The Colour Spectrum
by Blueberry and Blacktooth
Summary: The word 'Unique' is just a kind way of saying 'weird'. If you were to ask the residents of Forks about that one girl with eyes like the Moon and hair like the Midnight Sky, who floated dreamily instead of walked like a normal -sane- person, and who looked through you instead of AT you, well, they'd call her 'unique'. But what they really meant was that she's Batshit Crazy.
1. Prologue

**I know I shouldn't have, especially when trying to juggle four stories at the same time but seriously, inspiration just came and slapped me in the face with a fish.**

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 **Prologue - Grey**

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Edgar Beauregard was considered to be a very _peculiar_ young lady among the residents of sleepy little Forks, Washington. Of course, this was not without reason, because for all outward appearances, she _was_ a bit different. Some might even say she was a little bit touched in the head, especially since the whole _fiasco._ Edgar had been weird before, but it was if the whole _incident_ only made things take a turn for the worst regarding the young female. No one ever talked about it though, simply content to pretend to live in false ignorance and pretend it never happened in the first place, so if say –a newcomer were to come to town and approach a local resident to inquire about what exactly the whole _affair_ was about, said resident would simply avert their gazes, shake their head pitiyingly, and mutter on about how it was a "truly heartbreaking scene" before subtly changing the subject with the ease of an expert who had done so numerous times before.

But back to the beginning; Edgar Beauregard _really was_ quite…unique. The Beauregards were quite a respectable family, originating from Europe, having crossed over the ocean generations ago (if the rumours were to be believed) and made a big name for themselves on this side of the pond, and for unknown reasons, the father and wife had decided to make their home in the small Olympic town on the coast of Washington. Stories varied according to who you spoke to, so no one knew exactly why, but one day they had just shown up, bought that one really nice house by the woods that was too expensive for anyone to afford, and stayed.

Everyone agreed that they were genuinely nice people though, who were always willing to help out the community. Well, that is, until the whole _debacle._

Edgar, however, was very different to her posh but generous parents.

She was a nice enough girl yes, but as stated numerous times before, she was…inimitable, to put it nicely. She spoke in a dreamy, soft voice, but was always blunt and sincere. _Too_ sincere, most would say. She seemed to lack the basic human trait called 'tact', and tended to state things plainly, no matter the situation. She didn't do it out of malice, oh no, actually, in her own mind, she never realised that normal people weren't as straightforward as she was. It was a result of her secluded upbringing, she had no friends or family other than her father, who was always busy at work, and Forks residents didn't want their children interacting with such an unruly youth, so they discouraged any sort of friendship with her. Edgar didn't mind though. In fact, she didn't even realise anything was wrong.

She had snarled, knotted, out-of-control midnight black hair that reached down to her waist but sprang up in different directions and was forever mixed with leaves, twigs and paint, and no matter how much her mother had tried to tame it, it would never sit still. She was very pale as well, looking more like she had skin made of delicate porcelain than anything. She was of average height of a female her age –being seventeen-, standing at five-foot six, and she was fairly thin as well. But the _one_ thing people _always_ noticed as soon as the saw her, were her eyes. They were wide eyes, giving her a perpetually fascinated look, surrounded by long dark lashes that brushed against her cheekbones, and created a stark contrast against her extremely light shade of grey orbs. They looked colourless, most would say, as if they simply had no colour within them at all. In fact, most people thought she was blind, and her tendency to go minutes without blinking nor looking directly _at_ a person when she spoke only seemed to affirm their assumptions.

 _Most_ people had quite a lot of things to say about her if asked, but they were wrong, as 'most' people who 'assume' tend to be, because Edgar had _excellent_ eyesight. Her eyesight was so amazing in fact, that unlike most human beings, she had a fourth retina cone. Now, most people would ask what makes her so special if she has one more than normal, but that's entirely what made her different, since most people only had three, and the rare few with four, are able to discern colours that the average person can't even dream of seeing, for they'd have no idea what it even looks like.

Now, what did Edgar do with this special ability of hers?

Well, she made _art_ of course.

And she was extremely passionate about it too, which was yet _another_ reason as to why Forks residents didn't interact with her. She had a tendency to speak using art references -comparing things to colours and shapes and textures and famous paintings and statues and all things that would confuse even a well-educated middle-aged man. She was always dirty too, or at least according to the residents of the sleepy town, she was. Always covered in those colours of hers, they would say when she walked passed whilst shaking their heads. Paint on her face, chalk in her hair, hands covered in charcoal, pencils tucked behind her ears, not to mention all the supplies she _always_ carried on hand, her tools normally occupying the pouches on her apron she always wore over her clothing (which, was also constantly covered in various arty substances), and the black worn bag at her side –filled with _even more_ tools, notebooks, sketchpads, A4 size Canvas Pads, sand paper, pieces of materials she used for texture, beads…everything one could really need as an artist was in that bag of hers that she never failed to bring along with her in case inspiration hit.

And inspiration hit frequently and at the most inopportune moments too, much to the town's chagrin. She could be crossing the road, before suddenly stopping, reaching into her trusty bag and sketching out her surroundings, traffic be damned. Or she could be walking leisurely on the sidewalk before abruptly halting a fellow pedestrian and asking to do a quick drawing of them that they could of course keep (and what the town thought extremely funny, was that she always paid the people she requested to do drawings of, and not the other way around), and said pedestrian would be so frozen with shock that by the time they snapped out of it to give her their answer, she had already finished their unnervingly lifelike sketch and had handed it to them, money included, and was blissfully continuing on her road as if nothing had happened, leaving the very same pedestrian staring down at the admittedly _stunning_ drawing in shock, wondering just how in the world she had managed to complete such an intricate and detailed drawing in just under five minutes.

And little did said pedestrian know; the small town of Forks had been asking themselves that same question for years.

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Edgar, for her part, was totally oblivious to what the town thought of her, and lived blissfully in her own little world full of colours and light. She went about her days normally, sharp eyes taking in each and every sight she came across, details remaining embedded into her memory.

She didn't particularly care about anything else other than her art, so if someone wanted to have casual conversation with her about the economy, it would essentially be the same as talking to a brick wall. Her father, was a prime example of this case.

He was a business man through and through, always reading the Times Newspaper each morning, a cup of coffee in hand, only watched news reports on the television, always had his mobile with him at all times in case of a work emergency, dressed in expensive, personally tailored suits, and carried a briefcase full of important documents that Edgar never bothered to inspect herself.

Her father's name was Charles, and he was surprisingly young given his profession, only in his mid-thirties. He looked much like his daughter, a very handsome man who drew the gazes of women everywhere with light grey eyes, constantly messy raven locks (which could never be tamed, much to his disgruntlement) and a tall and lean stature. He was very mature though, and took no nonsense at work or anywhere else.

However, it seemed that Edgar was an exception to that rule. Not that she gave him any, it was just that she paid no heed to anything unless she found interest in it, much to his amusement. He loved his daughter very much, and was well aware of what the town as a whole thought of her, and though he didn't appreciate them for it, there really wasn't much he could do about it. He was just relieved that his daughter was oblivious to the rumours so she couldn't get hurt. He did everything to make his little girl happy…

… _Even_ if it meant letting her paint the house whenever she wanted.

Often times he would come home and find her in the living room, furniture pushed aside (not that it made much of a difference, since it was covered in multi-coloured paint splotches anyway) standing on a ladder (and would his heart always stutter and choke with that sight) buckets of paints surrounding her and adding yet another design on their already impressive wall mural. Used to the sight as he was, he would only sigh in fond exasperation, before changing into old, paint speckled clothing (an obvious result of spending an extended amount of time with his daughter) and taking a seat on the couch and watching her with a close eye in case she accidentally fell off the ladder in her daze.

It wouldn't be the first time.

It was one thing that constantly worried him about her. She was very accident prone as a result of her one-mindedness. She wasn't clumsy, she saw _everything_ that one, but the problem was, when she immersed herself in her art, she tended to forget her surroundings, so intent she was on her actions. Edgar had always been like that, ever since she was a child, and it was a constant headache source for Charles. One time he had even found her standing quite precariously on the edge of the roof of their two story home in her effort to get the perfect angle of the tree she was drawing (in the end, it _did_ end up being an extremely beautiful drawing, he had to admit) and he almost had a stroke right then and there.

Of course, she had just given him a look of confusion when he had basically monkey jumped his way up in his haste to get her down, not understanding what the 'big deal' was.

And Charles could only let out a heavy sigh, feeling like he had aged ten years in just ten minutes.

Nonetheless, Charles did his absolute best to provide for his vagabond daughter, even if it meant spending thousands of dollars' worth of art supplies every month.

Though, it wasn't as if he couldn't afford it (he was a very accomplished business man after all, coming from a family of Old Money, so it was no problem to him), and even if he couldn't, it didn't go to waste. Edgar was extremely talented, producing extremely detailed and life-like pieces at every turn. She made herself money that way too (Although it was hard work to get her to accept to turning it into a business, considering the fact that all she wanted was the pleasure of doing it, no reward needed), with high ranking people buying her works or requesting specially made orders every week. She was constantly busy, working hard but happily on some piece or another, blissfully lost in her own world.

And really, that's all that mattered to Charles Beauregard.

That his daughter was constantly happy.

And God help the person who dared hurt her.


	2. Chapter I

**Woah! Thanks so much for the amazing response! I didn't expect it! Much appreciated!**

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 **Chapter I - Purple**

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"So tell me again, Miss Beauregard, why you thought it fit to try and paint the cafeteria ceiling to suit your tastes?" Principal Johnson asked, leaning forward and regarding the girl sitting in front of him sternly. She stared straight back at him, face blank her colourless eyes wide and unblinking, meeting his gaze head on, looking like she was staring straight _through_ him, as opposed to _at_ him. _The girl was weird,_ he thought to himself. He never did feel completely comfortable being in her presence, especially with that unnerving stare of hers.

Edgar Beauregard was once again in the Principal's office, for the nth time this school year, yet again, being apprehended for 'vandalising' school property. It was a common enough occurrence, and always for the same reason. Normally she saw something (a wall, maybe the lockers or sometimes the floor) she thought needed improvement, and immediately set to work to try and change said object -consequences be damned. And always, a teacher would catch her red handed (sometimes quite literally) before sighing and dragging her to the school office, where Mrs Cope would take one look at the girl, shake her head in resignation and send her right into the Principal's office.

This time, it was the cafeteria ceiling that had been victim. Edgar had been casually going up her day, ditching class as she frequently found herself doing, not a care in the world aside what her next project would be, when she walked into the large lunch room, took one look around and smiled widely at the prospect of completely transforming the dreary hall into something bright and lively. And so, with the goal of Michelangelo's _Sistine Chapel_ ceiling in mind (which she was sure she could copy quite efficiently), Edgar raced to the Art room, hauled buckets of paints back to her starting point, placed a chair on a table for leverage and gotten started, wasting no time.

She had gotten about halfway through when a Lunch Lady had entered (intent on starting to place the lunch dishes forward) and saw her. It was no surprise that the poor old lady had gotten quite a shock and had let out a loud gasp, dropping the tray of cucumbers and tomatoes in her arms, creating a loud _clang_ in the empty room. Edgar, who had been so intent upon her work, had been startled by the loud sound causing her to jump slightly, and the already shaky chair she had been standing on to give out completely, resulting in the poor girl falling and spilling paint everywhere.

And her current situation in the Principal's office.

Edgar stared at her principal, watching as he shifted and squirmed, seemingly uncomfortable for some reason, and wondered idly if she should ask to draw him, in order to be able to capture his expression. She would pay him for it, of course, so he shouldn't be very opposed to agreeing if it meant he would gain something.

Her hand twitched for her backpack seated on the floor by the leg of her chair.

It would be very fast, and would only take her…seven minutes, four seconds, give or take. She could visualise it already. It would be in black and white, she'd use a 9B pencil for his hair, maybe a 2H for his grey highlights, she'd outline his broad shoulders with a 7B pencil, draw the creases of his shirt with a normal HB, she'd also make sure to get the shadows under his jaw done correctly, and the background would be simple to add in. Really, it would be an entirely quick affair.

Edgar inwardly nodded to herself in acceptance, before opening her mouth to make her request. Principal Johnson narrowed his eyes at her knowingly.

"I hope you're opening your mouth to explain your earlier actions. If not, then don't bother at all young lady." He stated tersely. It wasn't the first time he dealt with the girl, and he knew her very well by now.

Edgar's mouth closed without a word.

Like most other times she was brought to him, she didn't understand what exactly she had done wrong, because surely trying to improve the school by making it more aesthetically appealing couldn't be bad could it?

"I don't understand why I am in here Principal Johnson. I was simply trying to change the dreary tone of the cafeteria, and I'm sure most students would thank me for it." Edgar said honestly. She watched in growing confusion as the Principal's face turned an impressive shade of mauve and heard him suck in a deep breath, before crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, forehead creased and brows furrowed deeply.

Principal Johnson, for his part, was fighting the urge to reach into one of his desk drawers and pull out his flask of whiskey. Dealing with Edgar Beauregard always incited such reactions. The worst part was that she was truly oblivious as to what she had done wrong, like always.

"Miss Beauregard," he started in a shaky voice, trying to control himself, not that it was working much. "Detention for the rest of the week, after school." Johnson stated. He frowned deeper when Edgar shook her head.

"Sir, I already have detention this week. You'll have to reschedule for next week." She informed him in a completely level tone, and Johnson swore his tension just flew through the roof.

"And _why_ , exactly, do you already have detention?" He asked her in a tight voice. Edgar simply shrugged.

"I'm not very sure myself Sir. I don't think Mr Varner likes the colour 'red' very much, because he gave me a detention for painting his desk. I tried to argue that it was _not_ , in factred, instead a very light Pecan, but he didn't want to listen." She told him, sounding like for all intents and purposes, Varner was the one who was being absurd. Johnson rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to fight of an impending headache. Yes, he remembered that, when the teacher had stormed into his office after school to complain about the girl. He wasn't the only one either, frequently teachers walked into their classrooms only to find a completely different coloured wall or ceiling. It was about time he did something about it.

Johnson sighed loudly. "You know what, Miss Beauregard?" He started wearily, and Edgar tilted her head to the left, looking at him in confusion. "I won't give you detention. Instead I'll just call your father to see me after school. Hopefully we can find a solution with him here." The Principle declared finally.

Edgar, of course, didn't understand. "A solution to what, Sir?" She asked innocently. He scowled heavily and pointed forcefully to the door.

"Just get out of my office."

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Edgar Beauregard was sitting in a tree.

It was a common enough occurrence, nothing to sing to the heavens about, anyone could tell you that. Perhaps they'd also comment on how high up in said tree she was, and how she was crazy for sitting in it in the first place since it was currently raining, but other than that, not much else would be said about the matter. Not that said person's opinion mattered much, for they would have been ignored, and probably gone unheard by the subject of their thoughts.

It was lunch time now, and while most of the Forks High students were comfortably nestled within the walls of the cafeteria (and wondering why in the world the ceiling looked like a half-done painting), Edgar had opted to sit outside and finish a quick drawing of the forest behind the school. The rain was easily brushed aside, the thick cover of the leaves shielding her from it and she found the cool weather relaxing.

She contemplated idly to herself, if she should bother colouring it in, since so far it was just a plain pencil drawing (it was not in fact, plain at all, as to another person's eyes it would be considered quite spectacular, however to Miss Beauregard, it was just a 'rough sketch'). She could perhaps use her favourite Andradite coloured pencil to colour in the underside of the leaves, maybe Sard for the browning leaves…And she was sure she could also get the texture of the bark just right if she used her 0.7mm pencil.

She was almost finished shading in the shadow of a particularly tall Fir Tree when the wind took to blowing in her direction, ruffling her pages so much that she could no longer draw effectively. Waiting out the breeze wasn't an option either as the sky grew more ominous and thunder rolled, signalling the impending storm.

Edgar sighed in resignation and started packing away her things quickly, before making her way down the tree. Climbing down in record time (proof that she had done so numerous times before), she paused at the base of the tree.

She wasn't sure if she should just head through the cafeteria which would give her a direct route into the school, or just go around the building and end up in the parking lot. Edgar didn't very much like large crowds of people, she found them too noisy to properly concentrate in, and the lunch room was a perfect example full of chattering and laughing teenagers, eager to be given a brief reprieve after classes. _However,_ the rain was picking up quickly and heading around the building would most probably get her caught her in it, therefore drenching her and her supplies completely. Normally, she wouldn't care about getting wet, but she didn't want her hard work ruined just because she didn't want to enter the same vicinity as her fellow human beings. Mind made up, she quickly jogged her way across the large grounds of her school's lawn and pulled open the backdoor to the cafeteria.

Now, some people might call it fate, or others might call it destiny, or simple luck, but little did she know that by choosing to go through the cafeteria instead of around the school like she normally would have done had it not been raining, her life had changed forever.

Edgar, oblivious to this turn of events, walked inside the building, wrinkling her nose slightly at the loud noise, before closing the door shut behind her. Now she had to find another place to complete her drawing, she thought as she walked across the linoleum floors, clutching her supplies tightly to her chest and dodging excited teens.

She could probably try the Art room, perhaps Mr Brogue would let her use it until the end of the lunch period. That's all the time she would need to complete the drawing either way. Approximately six minutes, thirty four seconds to be precise. She was slightly troubled that she hadn't taken one of the leaves from the tree to help with vein work, but if she remembered correctly, she had a few old leaves she had used in the past still sitting in her bag. Maybe those could work, although, they would be limp and dry by now and easily breakable. They wouldn't suit her purposes completely, but she could make do-

Edgar paused mid-step, her senses tingling. Her father loved to poke fun at her and call them her 'Beauty radar', because every time she got the feeling, she ended up stopping and drawing something in the immediate vicinity. Edgar hardly ever paid his good-natured teasing any attention, but she could acknowledge the small truth in it. She looked up from the ground where she had been staring and looked to her right, trying to see what had made her stop, but she didn't see anything aside from more tables occupied with students. _Nothing particularly inspiring there_ , she thought.

When she looked to her left, however, she got her answer.

There, sitting at a secluded table in the middle of the lunch room, where five beautiful, incredibly lifelike sculptures. She could compare them to statues built lovingly by an Old Italian artist, who'd have spent years slaving over each and every detail, every nook and cranny. They must have been extremely expensive. The most prominent of them were seated in the two chairs directly in her line of sight – a male and a female. Edgar inspected the first one, tall, with Champagne locks, skin like milk, and eyes like honey-enviably beautiful, and if _Aphrodite_ existed, she'd probably look like her. Edgar felt a vague pang in her chest upon seeing her, for she was reminded of her mother. The male next to her was masculine as she was feminine. His arms and torso –which were the only portions of the statue visible- were muscled as if he were a rival for the statue of _Farnese Hercules._ His curly onyx hair was cut short, and she thought it seemed almost out of place when compared to the overt masculinity of its build.

There was another male next to him, with wavy, dirty blond hair. He was leaner than the other statue, though the sculptor still managed to convey the impression of strength. If he were to be compared to a famous sculpture, Edgar would choose _Discobolus,_ for he seemed to be the perfect embodiment of _Rhythmos._ Next to him, was a petite, pixie-like girl. She too was beautiful, but in no way could she compete with the Aphrodite look-alike. She was small, smaller than the others. Even her features, though sharp and elfin like were small, comparable to the _Angel of the Oneto Tomb._

And lastly, was a final male. Edgar thought that if the first blond female was modelled after _Aphrodite,_ then he was _Adonis_. He was _gorgeous,_ and she had to commend the sculptor for being able to so clearly convey such beauty through marble. He was just as pale as the rest of them, and not even Edgar could properly pinpoint the colour of his hair, for one second it looked bronze, then like rust, then dark gold, then all of them at once as if his hair was constantly ablaze. His eyes were topaz, a slightly lighter shade than his female counterpart. He was muscled, but leanly so, and not unlike the blond male. All in all, they were all breath-taking, and though they looked different, they were all similar in some ways, like the vaguely there dark bruises under their eyes, or there pale skin, though that was obvious since they were carved statues, and their eyes, all similar in shades yet completely different.

She blinked in surprise for a moment, before letting out a thoughtful hum. Perhaps the Principal had taken her words about how dreary the cafeteria was to heart and had attempted to insert some life into the cafeteria, though she vaguely wondered why such amazing pieces would be in a high school instead of an Art Museum in Europe. They seemed priceless. Of course, as a whole, they were a different sort of art Edgar would have thought belonged in a high school, for she would have expected colourful paintings of various sorts, but in the end they did well enough, she supposed.

Like always, the prospect of being able to draw such beautiful objects filled Edgar with a sense of excitement, and already she began to visualize the finished product in her mind. It was the type of project that needed careful and meticulous planning, and sadly would not be finished in one day. That is, if she were to draw all of them at the same time. She decided she would just focus on the _Aphrodite_ look-alike, mostly because she genuinely did remind Edgar of her own mother, and then perhaps the next day, she could start on them as a collection.

And then suddenly the pixie-like one moved, shifting in her seat to look straight at Edgar with a bright smile, and Edgar was startled to see that they were _not_ in fact, sculptures at all, but instead then were _real_ beings. Adonis looked in her direction seconds later, with a small frown on his face, as if he were thinking about something confusing.

And so Edgar did the only logical thing in such a situation. Well, logical to _her_ at least, because we all know that normal logic does not apply to Edgar Beauregard.

She promptly turned on her foot and changed course, heading straight towards the table full of beautiful people.

Now, a _normal_ person would have taken in the fact that for some reason, the tables around the beautiful people were completely empty, and the would have felt the unapproachable aura the seemed to emit and would automatically be deterred from even entering the same five foot radius as them, however, Edgar wasn't normal, so she didn't sense the aura, and though she saw the empty tables, thought nothing of them.

And if she had bothered to pay any attention, she would have noticed that the whole cafeteria had gone silent, watching as she approached them with disbelief, because _nobody_ every dared do that, oh no, it was an unwritten rule to _never_ bother them.

Once again, Edgar was unaware of this, and she gave them a giddy smile when she arrived at their table.

"Hullo," She greeted, smile still in place and looking straight at the blond female, who merely watched her with a raised eyebrow. "You're very beautiful. I like beautiful things. Your hair is flaxen and shines golden in the sunlight I'm sure. You remind me of my mother actually. She was very beautiful too, even more so than you are, but of course, I might be biased because she's my mum. I'd love for you to meet her, and I'm certain she'd love to meet you too, but the problem, you see, is that she's dead. Though there _is_ a certain charm in death as well I suppose…I find that most females between the ages of thirteen and thirty-seven don't like being compared to someone's mother, but I think it's a compliment, and if you'd met mine, you'd think so too." She rambled with a thoughtful look on her face, oblivious to the horror filled looks of students behind her and shocked ones of the table she stood at.

"Anyway Beautiful-Female-Who's-Name-I-Do-Not-Know-Nor-Really-Care-To-Learn, I came over here because I was wondering if you please let me draw you. I love art you see, and you remind me of an Ancient Grecian statue, in fact, I think you might just be Aphrodite herself, but as I have no proof, I will not dwell on _that._ It'd only take exactly six minutes twenty-seven seconds of your time, and I'll pay you for it. You'd get to keep it after, I only want the pleasure of drawing you. Will you let me?"

The Aphrodite in question -whose name was actually Rosalie Hale and was one of three females in the Cullen family- gave her a long assessing look, processing her words and contemplating if she should allow it. She ignored the dumbstruck looks of her siblings next to her, thinking a long moment, before nodding once. She found herself interested to see what this dreamy black-haired girl could produce, and she saw no harm in humouring her.

And so Rosalie watched as the girl let out a small exclamation of excitement, her grey eyes shining brightly, before quickly dropping into the one empty seat left at their table, before quickly leaning down into her bag, extracting a well-used Sketchpad and a case full of pencils.

Edgar set to work immediately, pulling out a 6B pencil to start with and flipping to a blank page, before her hand set to work. The original occupants of the table watched in amazed fascination as her hand moved expertly around the paper, the picture quickly came to life as she drew, each detail captured even better than a camera photo could do. The background was added in, the lighting somehow replicated, and soon enough, after she picked out a few other pencils, colour was included. As promised, the whole thing was completed in exactly six minutes, twenty-seven seconds, leaving them with an unnervingly life-like drawing of Rosalie Hale.

Edgar smiled in satisfaction once done, ripping out the page from the whole book and sliding it to her subject, along with a hundred dollar bill she had seemingly pulled out from thin air. Soon, her things were packed up once more and with one last dreamy smile sent their way, she calmly turned on her heel and basically floated out of the silent cafeteria, leaving to stare after her in shock.

And that's how Edgar Beauregard met the Cullens.


	3. Chapter II

**Yay! 20 Reviews already? You guys are great! And I'm glad everyone seems to like Edgar so much, because God know's she's a trial and a half to write.**

 **This chapter is pretty short, meaning exactly 2009 words, but I shall warn you now that most chapters will range between 2k-3k words long. It's going to be an EXTREMELY slow going story as well, so buckle your seatbelts people, cause it's going to be a long, long ride.**

 **I'll try and keep an updating schedule of every two days, since the chapters are short and I tend to write them in two parts, so I think I'll be able to keep it up fairly reliably. Hopefully.**

 **Hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

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 **Chapter II - Red**

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"You seem like a reasonable man, Mr Beauregard, and I do hope you can acknowledge the problem we are facing." Johnson said gravely. Across from him, Charles Beauregard nodded in understanding.

"Of course, Edgar has always been a little rebellious." He replied, though a part of him thought that wasn't exactly the correct word. Next to him, his daughter gave him a blank stare.

He had been called into school earlier on, receiving a call from the Principal himself to come and discuss the growing problem of his daughter's lack of concern for authority. Personally, Charles wasn't entirely surprised that they had finally called him in, however, he _was_ surprised that it had taken them that long to do so. It was only the beginning of the school year, October to be precise, and yet, Edgar had been receiving detentions every week since. He, trying to be the responsible father that he was, had repeatedly tried to talk to his daughter about it, but like every other year that she got herself in trouble with the school, she paid him absolutely no heed and carried on like normal. Charles understood her need to try and improve the school's 'aesthetic appeal' (her words, not his), because it really was a dreary old place, however, she just went about it the wrong way.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that…"Johnson sounded dubious. 'Rebellious' wasn't quite the word the principal would use to describe the subject in question. "But either way, such behaviour has to stop. If she could only show such dedication to her grades!" He grumbled, frowning at Edgar, who wasn't even paying attention to their conversation.

No, she was currently contemplating if she could get her father to pass by the local paint shop on the way home, her Acrylics were running short and she had been meaning to ask.

Charles and the Principal spent a short moment regarding the young girl, who was staring out the window with a thoughtful look on her face. Charles sighed.

"I'll talk to her about her grades." He relented tiredly and Johnson raised an eyebrow at him.

"And her…painting problem?" He asked. The man across from him shrugged helplessly.

"I apologise but there is nothing I can do about that. Once Edgar sets her mind on something, nothing can sway her. Just think of it as free renovations." He tried to add a charming smile after that, but Johnson's face could have been made of stone at that moment.

"Mr Beauregard, you can't expect me to just allow her to do whatever she wants! If I let everyone gallivant around with paint brushes then it would be an Art School, not a _High_ school." He exclaimed indignantly. Edgar turned her wide gaze on him.

"I don't see why it can't be both." She quipped softly, making Johnson suck in a deep breath and turn a dark shade of crimson. Charles fond his lips twitching and gave his daughter a look of fond exasperation. He stood, intent on leaving before things could escalate any further and possibly send the poor Principal to hospital with Hypertension.

"Alright Mr Johnson, I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything. If we may take our leave?" He asked and the other man gave a terse nod.

"You may. Thank you for coming in today Mr Beauregard. Though if it don't change, there will be dire consequences." He threatened and Charles gave a small smile.

"Of course." He acknowledged, before looking at his daughter who was still sitting. "Come along Edgar. Let's leave Principal Johnson in peace. "

* * *

The Cullen residence didn't normal experience much excitement over a single subject. Mostly because the residents themselves hardly ever got _really_ excited about anything at all. When one lives for over a century, they tend to take the phrase 'I've seen it all' quite literally. And so, the fact that something interesting _had_ happened to them after many, many, _many_ years, well, nobody could stop talking about it.

Yes, they were indeed talking about Edgar Beauregard.

Of course, they didn't exactly know her name at present, so to them, she was just being referred to as "The Girl".

"Who do you think she is?" Alice Cullen asked curiously, as she sat on the couch, peering over the extremely impressive drawing of her sister on the coffee table in interest. Edward, who was sitting on her right, shrugged.

"I don't know, I've never seen her before." He answered. Emmett leaned forward with a grin and inspected the paper with a grin.

"Whoever she is, she sure did manage to get Rose's beauty right." The buff Vampire declared and his wife preened from where she was sitting on the other couch.

Jasper frowned thoughtfully. "She wasn't intimidated by us, which I find odd considering humans normally avoid us." He remembered how easily she had made her way towards them, as if she couldn't sense the danger they emitted like most people. The others made various sounds of agreement.

"Well, she isn't exactly _normal."_ Edward murmured, drawing the others attention.

"What do you mean? Sure she seems a little…" Rosalie paused, searching for a way to describe the dreamy girl. "Straightforward, but aside from that, I didn't sense anything wrong with her."

Edward smiled a little. "Did you know she thought us statues at first glance? She compared Emmett to the _Farnese Hercules."_ He informed them and his black haired brother gave a booming laugh, while the others grinned.

"Well, that's an accurate comparison if I've ever heard one." Jasper drawled wryly, making Alice giggle softly.

Edward snorted softly. "But according to what I heard from the other humans, she's very different. Not in the same sense that we are, but in the sense that a lot of them –and most of the population of Forks- think she's mentally deranged."

That made the Cullens fall silent for a moment before Alice shook her head. "I don't see how they could think that."

"I could." Emmett stated, much to the surprise of them all, because no one expected _Emmett_ to have said it, maybe Jasper, but not Emmett.

"How?" Rosalie asked frowning and the burly male shrugged nonchalantly.

"Firstly, because of the way she looks at you. Or to be more precise, _through_ you. Coupled with the fact that her eyes are so pale, it's as if she's blind. It's slightly unnerving. And the way she _speaks,_ like she's lost in her own world, all dreamy-like. She doesn't seem to grasp basic human communication skills either, proven with how she was so blunt about her mother's death. Most humans don't speak about death so plainly in conversation, let alone to people they don't know."

The rest of them were struck silent by Emmett's extremely perceptive character analysis, and in their minds, they had to admit that he was right in all points. It surprised them, not because Emmett Cullen was thick, but it was just that he never bothered with the little things, and preferred to take things at face value.

Edward spoke first. "Her mind is brilliant though." He declared with an interested expression. "I can't explain it accurately, because even I have some difficulty understanding it. She has Tetrochromia, meaning she has a fourth retina cone instead of the usual three humans have and she sees in all these amazing colours that a normal human shouldn't even be able to imagine. She's extremely clever as well, even though she cares not for anything aside from art. Like for example, how she was able to calculate the exact amount of time it would take to finish Rosalie's drawing. It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

Yes, Edward Cullen found himself _very_ interested. He couldn't help but want to learn more about the mystery human, just so he could be able to understand even a little about how her mind worked. It seemed that in this case, his mind reading ability was useless, for even if he could hear her, it was like a foreign language to his ears.

The sound of a car approaching from the distance pulled them back to the present. "We'll ask Carlisle and see if he knows." Alice proposed but Rosalie shook her head.

"I don't think we should get more invested in her. She may be interesting, that I can acknowledge, but it's too risky." The blond said, always thinking of her family's safety first.

"You're the one who allowed her to draw you." Edward retorted in a hostile manner and she scowled.

"A mistake on my part, I admit. However knowing Alice, she'll probably want to make _friends_ with her." Rosalie spat out the word as if it were a curse, causing Jasper to glare at her angrily.

Emmett, seeing how his brother was seconds away from defending his wife, and therefore antagonising his own, intervened before things could get out of hand. "Rose, I think we should just ask and see if Carlisle knows who she is. That way we can at least know the name of the artist who drew this beautiful drawing of you." He could already see Rosalie calming down slightly. He found himself amused –flattery got you everywhere with her. "We'll leave it alone after that."

"Leave what alone?" Esme asked curiously as she and Carlisle entered, the latter also looking intrigued.

Alice spoke before Rosalie could stop her. "We met an interesting human today." She informed him with a large smile, ignoring her sister's glare. Carlisle raised an eyebrow in surprise, because rarely ever had a normal human managed to capture his children's interest.

Meaning that the human they were speaking of wasn't _normal_ at all.

"Really?" Esme asked next to him, also sounding very interested. Jasper quickly regaled them of the tale of what had transpired early on during the day, with the others adding little bits as he went and soon Carlisle found himself smiling slightly in amusement.

"Ah, that would be Charles Beauregard's daughter. I don't know her name, but she's very well-known around town. They seem to think her strange." He explained. Edward frowned.

"Charles Beauregard? The name isn't familiar." He said when he failed to recognise it. Carlisle nodded.

"He's a very influential business man, but he's also extremely private, especially after his wife died two years ago during what the town likes to refer to as the _incident_." The other were surprised and Esme gasped in shock.

"Oh, how sad. I can't imagine how hard it must've been for them." She cried sympathetically and her husband gave her a reassuring smile.

"What exactly, is this 'incident'?" Asked Rosalie, but Carlisle simply shook his head.

"They won't speak of it. No matter who I ask, they won't tell me anything except that "It was very tragic" or some other variation." Emmett snorted in amusement.

"So what do you think we should do?" Asked Jasper, going back to the problem at hand. Carlisle frowned thoughtfully, thinking for a moment.

"Well, Rosalie's right in that we shouldn't put the family at risk," Here the other blond smiled smugly, and Carlisle gave her a look of wry humour. " _However,_ I must admit that I too find myself interested. Don't go actively searching for her, but if you do manage to find anything out, or find yourself in a situation that means interacting with her, then I suppose it can't be helped. Just be careful."

Edward heard the loophole, and already his mind was thinking of ways he could learn more of her without _actively_ searching her out. It wasn't like he was putting his family at risk, he was slightly curious, and being interested in somebody's mind didn't automatically mean declaring all of your secrets to the high heavens for them to hear. He would probably move on within a week, a human could only capture his attention for so long before he became bored.

However, little did Edward know, he would never tired of said human, and he would eventually find himself more than 'slightly curious'.


	4. Chapter III

**It's the 3rd. Two days after I posted Chapter 3. Seems like so far I've managed to stay on schedule. Yay.**

 **We learn a little bit more about Edgar from a different perspective this chapter. I find I quite like it too.**

 **I shall reply to everyone's reviews this weekend. Promise.**

 **Hope you all enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter III - White**

* * *

Edgar Beauregard was currently sitting in her Grandmother's Greenhouse, perched on the white bench, legs tucked comfortably underneath her and intently reading a large text of Gardner's _Art through the Ages_. It was one of her favourite books, for every time she read it, she learned something new, something she hadn't noticed previously. She especially loved the Renaissance and Baroque Periods, because to her, that's when Painting _truly_ became an art, especially in comparison to the common, but extremely poorly done Christian Middle Age Paintings of Holy Mother Mary and Baby Jesus, the latter who in most cases, ended up looking like a terrified Baguette with a face.

But that was just Edgar's humble opinion.

Her Grandmother, Cecilia Beauregard (nee Vandeviere, wife to -now deceased- Alistair Beauregard, mother to William, Catherine and Charles Beauregard), was sharing the glass building with her, pruning her Red Roses with a smile, and enjoying the quiet company of her favourite grandchild who had come to spend the week with her.

Wealthy as she may be, Cecilia frequently found herself quite lonely in her large Seattle home ever since her loving husband had passed on four years previous. Of course, her children came to visit her whenever they got the chance -Charles the most as he lived the closest- but it just wasn't the same without her darling Alistair. And so, to try and fill the gap in her old heart, she often invited her Grandchildren over to fill her home with life and laughter. But since they too had now grown up (with the exception of little Sigrid, seven years old and the youngest daughter of Catherine, but as they lived in New York, they were rarely seen), she didn't see them as much. The only one of her ten Grandchildren she still saw on a regular basis was Edgar.

Now, Edgar wasn't her favourite Grandchild because of this, contrary to what most would believe. No, it was because Edgar was the most down to earth. Yes, even Cecilia acknowledged how odd that sounded, considering Edgar always seemed to be lost in her own little world -head in the clouds and voice as breezy as the wind, and grey eyes wide with wonder at what only she could see, but in comparison to her snobbish and spoiled (but well-meaning) cousins, she really was the most genuine.

Some might call Edgar Beauregard mad, others would perhaps choose strange (and Cecilia could agree on that account), but at least she never pretended to be something she was not, and to Cecilia, that's what counted the most.

Not to mention her jaw-droppingly stunning talent at art. Cecilia herself had been painted many times by her Granddaughter, her husband as well, framed and hung around various places throughout her house. Whenever she was feeling particularly saddened by her loss, all she had to do was take a look at an extremely life-like painting of Alistair smiling down at her, and she would be content.

Edgar herself reminded Cecilia of Alistair in a way, both with the same light and dreamy countenance, and Alistair always did have a great appreciation of Art, so it was if a large part of him had been transferred into Edgar, much to Cecilia's joy.

Yes, she very much did love her Granddaughter.

She had been sceptical at first about Charles' choice in wife, she could admit. Elizabeth White was her name, and she was a young thing when she was married, only seventeen to Charles' twenty years. He'd been _very_ much in love with her too, still was to this day, despite her passing on (and what a tragic accident _that_ had been). Elizabeth had been pretty enough yes, ginger hair and brown eyes with thick lashes, very quick to laugh too. And she had been kind and polite as well, so it wasn't anything that had to do with her personally that was the reason Cecilia was sceptical. No, it was _age._ Now, Cecilia didn't have much room to talk herself, as she had married Alistair at only fifteen, however, those were very different times and it had been expected that a young lady of high-class be married before the age of twenty, and plus it had been an arranged marriage at that, so the circumstances could not be compared.

Times however, had changed since then, and youths were given much more freedom to make their own choices and live as freely as they wanted, and mentalities were altered. She had been afraid that kind as Elizabeth may have been, she would eventually break Charles' heart after a few years, perhaps coming to realise that she had made the choice of commitment far too hastily and had come to regret it as her passing fancy of him -what she had at first thought of as love -had flown off.

And so Cecilia had not been very approving of the binding, despite Alistair's reassurances and Elizabeth's ability to get on quite well with her other children. She was ashamed to admit that she had made Elizabeth's life quite hard during the first few years of the marriage, but not _once_ had Elizabeth resented her for it. No, perhaps she had gotten frustrated quite a few times, and maybe stubborn, but _never_ angry, and it was through such sheer determination to prove herself to her husband's mother that Cecilia had found herself amazed at the woman, and later very much approving.

Charles had been smug of course, saying that she should have trusted his judgement from beginning because "hadn't she raised him to be a good judge of character?" but Cecilia had merely smiled and embraced her youngest son tightly.

Edgar had been a surprise, being born only six months after the marriage to an unknowingly pregnant Elizabeth. Cecilia had frowned and scolded Charles heavily for not waiting until after marriage much to his blushing embarrassment, whilst Alistair had just laughed pleasantly and congratulated his son.

And so Edgar had been born, wide eyes already open and marvelling at the world. Charles had chosen her name, and Cecilia had not approved of giving the little baby girl a male's name, but as he had also chosen 'Cecilia' as her second name, she agreed without (too) much of a fuss.

Cecilia had basically lived with them in Forks for the first three years of Edgar's life, since Charles was a very busy man (as much as he wanted to stay at home, he had to finish University at the time and follow his father around so he was very busy) and she couldn't well expect a seventeen year old to cope with a new born baby on her own.

Elizabeth had been a good mother, especially for her young age and she'd been very much willing and eager to listen to Cecilia's instructions about the finer points of baby care, and Edgar made it very easy as well, as she was never all that problematic. Extremely curious yes, but never much more. Elizabeth's mother was always there as well, or as much as she could be when she had Elizabeth's younger siblings to take care of as well. She was a pleasant enough woman, Cecilia had found her agreeable but as she never spent much time with her, she wasn't the best judge.

All in all really, in the end she had gotten along well with Elizabeth, and she, just like the rest of the family, had been quite shaken when the lovely girl had passed on. Charles and Edgar had been hit the hardest of course, and for months had barely made contact with anyone except each other. And even then relations had been strained as Edgar had gone through a long period of depression, completely immersing herself in her art and barely eating, sleeping or speaking to anyone, ceasing to attend school altogether. The girl had only been fifteen, and still very much attached to her mother, so it was understandable. She had retreated into herself, and the once dreamy girl had become lost in her own world. Poor Charles had felt so helpless during that time, still in mourning himself and unable to do anything for his daughter aside from buying her more art supplies in a vain attempt to keep her happy, and so Cecilia had moved in with them once more to try and help out as much as she could.

It had taken a long time for them to recover from the _incident_ , and even after they were never exactly the same, but the two of them had grown closer as a consequence, so she supposed at least one good thing came out of it.

And Edgar seemed better now, if a little more distracted and faraway, but Cecilia could accept that because the road to recovery was a long and hard one, but the important thing was that her Granddaughter was healing, slowly but surely.

* * *

"I don't see why you insisted on having her over during a week." Charles Beauregard grumbled as he loaded his daughter's bag (ignoring the insistence of Thomas, his mother's butler) into his black Audi waiting in front of the entrance to his mother's large home. Cecilia let out a tinkling laugh and simply waved her hand as if it wasn't important.

"I missed the company of my Grandchild and I'm sure she can afford to miss one week Son, Edgar is a very bright young girl." She insisted and Charles' mind drifted to his daughter's dismal grades. Yes, Edgar was very clever indeed, and the work currently being done at school was easy for her, so catching up wouldn't be a problem (if she bothered -which she wouldn't) however she didn't very much apply herself to her school work, and it showed quite clearly on her report card.

"No mother, she really couldn't. She's already treading on thin ice for trying to paint her school's cafeteria ceiling to look like the _Sistine Chapel._ " He drawled wryly and his mother laughed again and lovingly pulled their subject in question –who had been sketching the running fountain in front of the house and causing her to draw a long line through it by accident, much to her annoyance- into a bone crushing hug.

"And you do have the talent to pull that off, don't you Edgar?" Her Grandmother asked with amusement. Edgar shrugged and gave a small smile, but didn't say anything. Cecilia shook her head fondly, "Do come visit your old Grandmother again soon, dear. It gets very lonely down here."

Edgar nodded. "Father and I shall be spending Christmas here as always Grandmother. Along with the whole family. But I'll try and pass by when I drop Mrs Brighton's portrait in two weeks." She added and Cecilia smiled.

"I will look forward to it then." She turned to her son who was watching them with an exasperated expression. "Charles." She said in acknowledgement.

"Mother." He answered and with one last hug, he and Edgar had climbed into the car and were off back Forks.

The car ride was largely silent except a brief exchange between father and daughter about how Edgar's stay had been. The ride back two Forks was about three hours driving slowly, but as her father was used to it (having to drive to Seattle every morning for work), he managed to cut it down to one hour, fourty-five minutes.

The town was much the same as it had been when she had left, not that she had expected it to change much during her brief absence, but her father made a stop at the Petrol Station to fill up his tank.

"Do you want something from the shop?" He asked as he parked by a free pump and unbuckled his seatbelt. Edgar thought for a moment, and nodded. If he was offering, she could really go for Blueberry and Raspberry _Slush Puppy_. He handed her a ten dollar bill and she gave a soft thank you.

"Get me an iced-coffee please." Charles asked just before she closed the car door behind her. She walked quickly inside the quick store, passing a shiny Volvo (which she briefly considered drawing but decided against as she was feeling quite tired from the drive).

The bell tingled once, and she was hit with the feeling of the warm, heated shop –it was autumn but already quite chilly. Edgar paid no attention to anything else except her objective of Slushies and Cold Coffee and didn't take more than seven minutes completing said goal.

Someone had already reached the till before she did and they looked vaguely familiar (she was _sure_ she had seen that fiery hair somewhere) but she couldn't exactly remember them, so she let it be. It did seem to be on the tip of her tongue however, and she was sure that the slightest thing would make her recall. The cashier saw Edgar first and gave a bright smile.

"Elisa Beauregard!" He exclaimed, causing the male with the blazing hair to look at her immediately. Edgar then remembered from where she had seen him. It was Adonis, the one who had been sitting at the same table as Aphrodite the previous week. He was still as breath-taking as ever, looking more like he belonged in the pages of Greek or maybe Roman mythology than having any business being a real person, or at least that's what she thought. She saw him crack a small smile but didn't pay him much more attention, instead of focusing on the old cashier.

She didn't bother correcting his incorrect use of her name. "Hello. I don't remember who you are." Edgar told him. She'd met many people in her admittedly short life, and tended to forget all of them within a few hours of the encounter, having found something more interesting to occupy her mind. The old man simply laughed.

"You stopped my wife and I at the beach to do a drawing of her a few months ago –and what an excellent drawing it was!" He exclaimed jovially. Edgar found that it didn't help jog her memory at all no matter how hard she tried.

"Oh." Was all she said. "Well, I'm glad you liked it." She said with a small smile. The old man –Smith, his name tag read- grinned.

"We ended up framing it. Actually, she was wondering if you could do a formal portrait of her? We'd pay you for it of course." He proposed. Edgar shrugged. She didn't like being paid for her work, despite her father's insistence. She preferred to do it for pleasure rather than a reward.

"I can do it for free." She told him but he shook his head.

"No, such talent should be rewarded. Especially in one so young. We'll pay. Just hold on a second a second while I go and jot down our address." Smith declared, not giving her any more time to protest and hurrying into the back room.

Edgar took a long sip of her Blueberry and Raspberry slushie before it melted, and wondered idly how long the coffee in her hand would stay cold in her warm hands. She looked at the can and debated just going to fetch a cooler one for her father. It probably wouldn't take very long.

"You don't strike me as an 'Elisa'." A soft, harmonious voice stated humorously and she looked up, having forgotten the other presence in the shop who had been patiently silent during her whole exchange with the old man. She had even forgotten about him actually.

He was looking at her with a curious smile and she shrugged nonchalantly. Edgar didn't think 'Elisa' suited her much either. It sounded too much like 'Elizabeth' for her tastes.

"What do I strike you as?" She asked half-heartedly, watching the small drops of water drip from the _Nescafe_ can. It was creating a small spot on the floor.

Adonis was silent a moment.

"Perhaps Lilian." Adonis finally concluded, smile growing. Edgar thought it over but found she didn't like that as well. _It's too soft,_ she thought to herself.

"I don't think so." She told him, just as Smith returned waving a piece of paper with a sheepish smile on his wrinkled face, interrupting their brief exchange. She saw Adonis frown at her but ignored him, giving her attention to the shopkeeper.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting so long, I ended up getting a call from the suppliers." He apologised, handing it to her. "Stop by any time next week. You're very welcome." The old man said with a genuine smile. Edgar nodded and pocketed it in her apron.

"Alright." She lifted the two drinks in her hands pointedly. "May I pay now? I fear I've kept my father waiting too long in the car."

Smith laughed again. "It's fine. You can have them free of charge." Edgar thought of protesting but his expression said he wouldn't take no for an answer. She smiled.

"Thank you very much Mr Smith." She said, before giving him a small wave and exiting the shop, shivering slightly when the cold breeze hit her. She hurried faster to the car.

"Please wait!" Adonis called, making her pause just as her hand touched the handle and turn around. He was standing by the entrance, brows furrowed and giving her a frustrated look. She took a sip of her drink and looked at him expectantly.

"What is your real name?" He asked her and she blinked once in surprise. Why in the world would he want to know? For the life of her, she couldn't come up with a plausible reason, as she doubted they would ever see each other again.

"Edgar." She answered with a shrug, before entering the vehicle.

 _He was very strange_ , she thought.


	5. Chapter IV

**In which we see a little of what Edgar is like in class.**

 **Hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter IV - Brown**

* * *

"Okay, can anyone tell me the exact date of Queen Mary the First's Coronation?" Asked Mrs Nott as she stood by the blackboard, piece of chalk in hand and looking at her Grade 11 students expectantly. She frowned deeply when she saw all of them looked as if they had no clue. Mrs Nott found herself growing frustrated. They had been going over Bloody Mary's reign for a whole week now and she had told them multiple times to memorise key dates -especially since she would be giving them a quiz before the short two week Halloween break. It would cover the most important things they had learned since the beginning of the year in August, but judging by the reactions of the class, they were all woefully unprepared.

Wilhelmina Nott's sharp brown eyes roamed the class intently, watching with increasing displeasure as most squirmed and immediately looked away when she caught their eye pointedly. Her lips pursed when she caught sight of the slackers in the very back row, the worst one being a girl with bushy, messy blank hair tangled with leaves and twigs….and was that purple paint? The girl wasn't even paying any attention, hunched over what seemed to be a sketchpad, her right hand moving furiously across the page. What was her name again? Something Beauregard? The other staff complained about her enough that Nott could recall at least that much. However being a new teacher herself, having only started a week and a half before (the old History teacher had inexplicably found herself being hit with a strong wave of Wanderlust and had left the small town as soon as she was able), had not yet been directly confronted with the infamous student.

It was of Wilhelmina's opinion that the only reason the girl misbehaved was because the other teachers didn't discipline their students properly. But Nott had been a teacher for fourty years, and had dealt with her fair bit of unruly youths -even gaining quite a reputation because of it. She wouldn't let some silly girl mar her record.

 _Well, that settles it,_ Nott thought angrily, straightening up and marching towards the girl in question, the class remained silent, watching her curiously. She resisted the urge to sneer at another female that had a little too much face on her makeup. _Honestly, youths these days._

She arrived next to her target's table and stood tall and proud, staring down at the black haired girl expectantly, waiting for her to look up. Seconds ticked passed, and Nott began to grow irritated, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and glaring down at the still oblivious female. The class watched with vague interest, wondering who'd crack first.

Seconds turned into minutes, until finally three whole minutes had passed without even a glance from the girl (who Nott was scandalised to see was covered in splotches of paint in various other places upon her attire as well), and finally the teacher cleared her throat.

Still no acknowledgement.

Nott felt her face grow hot. Such disrespect! " _Miss Beauregard."_ She uttered loudly. The girl in question jumped in her seat, banging her knees under hear desk and her pencil case falling to the ground, the components rolling away. She blinked quickly, as if trying to regain her bearings before slowly turning her head and looking at her History Teacher.

Nott resisted the urge to take a step back in surprise, so startled she was at the sight of the girl's gaze. Her eyes were large and colourless, as if God had simply not bothered to fill them in at _all_. It was as if she wasn't really looking at Nott at either, instead just merely looking in her _direction_ , like she was looking _through_ her teacher at something behind her. If Wilhelmina didn't know better, she would have immediately pegged the girl as blind.

Beauregard was still staring at her, having not said anything during the brief silence in which the history teacher had been lost in her thoughts.

Nott quickly regained her composure, remembering that she was still in front of her whole class and needed to remain calm. "Are you aware, Miss Beauregard, that I've been standing next to your desk for almost five minutes?" She asked in a tight voice. The girl shook her head.

"No." She answered simply, voice breezy and unconcerned. Nott bristled and unfolded her arms, placing one on her hip and glaring down at her.

"Clearly you haven't been paying an ounce of attention in my class Miss Beauregard, and that is unacceptable. However, perhaps you can answer my next question and prove me otherwise?" She proposed, still glaring hard at the utterly unconcerned looking female, who said nothing in response, instead merely continuing to stare at her.

Wilhelmina wondered how on earth the girl could manage to unnerve her by merely staring at her.

"In _which_ year, was Queen Mary the First officially crowned?" She asked in a tight voice. Beauregard continued to remain silent, but thankfully (not that Nott would ever admit it) averted her unrelenting gaze to the ceiling. _Perhaps she was thinking,_ Nott thought to herself after a few seconds ticked by without a response.

Finally, the girl looked back at her, straight in the eye (and even then it was if she was looking through the elderly woman) for a long moment, before shrugging helplessly.

Now it was Nott's turn to stare. "What, might I ask, had you so preoccupied that you were basically absent during the whole lesson?" The woman asked angrily. Beauregard (and really, what _was_ her first name?) picked up the sketchpad which had previously been left forgotten on her desk and held it up for her teacher to see.

At first, Nott could only stare at it in amazed disbelief, for she could not believe her eyes. She slowly took it from the girl's hand to hold it closer and confirm that she was not seeing things. It was an _extremely_ life-like drawing of the forest at the back of the school, captured at an angle that even the mountains in the distance could be seen clearly. The girl had been in the process of colouring it in, and had somehow even managed to get the dreary clouds and heavy fog just right. It looked more like a camera captured photo than a drawing, albeit a picture that had no colour in some places, but even then, it still looked stunning, as if it were done on purpose. The detail was utterly _astounding_ , from the dead autumn leaves on the ground, to the already lightly snow-tipped mountains.

The rest of the class, who couldn't see the drawing, could only wonder what had made their normally strict and no-nonsense teacher utterly speechless, and though the tried their hardest to catch a peek, they yielded no results. Instead they could only assume that it was something so horrific that not even the teacher was unaffected. They wouldn't be surprised if it was, Beauregard was a weirdo, everyone and their _mother's_ knew that.

"M-Miss Beauregard," Nott started, peeling her eyes away from the page and looking with wide eyes at the girl who up until this point, had merely been staring patiently at her teacher. Wilhelmina Nott had never been so pleasantly surprised by a student in her life. She had seen her fair share of talented youths yes, but _never_ like this. Why, she was sure that she had never even seen a professional present something as breath-taking as what she held in her hand in that moment. Beauregard could be great in the future.

 _However_ , she couldn't very well let the girl go unchecked, especially not after making a scene in front of the whole class and so she schooled her amazed expression into a frown, handing the girl back her sketchpad stiffly. "Detention after school." Nott declared finally. "And see me after class." She turned sharply on her heel, and making her way back to the front.

Wilhelmina gave the girl one last shrewd look, assessing her carefully, before writing the correct date of the Coronation (1st October 1553) and circling it pointedly and going back to her lesson.

The class went by quickly and soon the bell rang loudly, signalling the end of class. Eager students quickly packed up their things and rushed out, hurrying to their next destination in an effort not to be late.

Edgar on the other hand simply sighed softly to herself, before packing up her things and kneeling down to pick up the pencils that had fallen earlier on. She hoped she managed to find all of them, because they were very expensive, and she had bought them in Seattle. Her father wouldn't be very happy to know she had lost them.

Luckily, after hard searching, she managed to retrieve all of them (she knew the exact number) and stood with an accomplished smile on her face, before making her way to the front of the classroom where her teacher was busy.

Edgar stood in front of Mrs Nott's desk, clutching her things to her chest and regarding the wooden table with interest, contemplating whether or not she should paint it a dark cherry. It seemed like a good colour to her, very dark and elegant, and it would also add to the whole 'historic' feel of the classroom. Of course, perhaps it would be best to ask Mrs Nott if she would approve of such a colour in the first place. She learned that some people just had an extreme reaction to colours they did not like, Mr Varner and Red being a prime example. To this day, Edgar still couldn't understand how someone could react so negatively to a colour, Nevermind the fact that it wasn't even _red_ in the first place. She didn't blame him for not seeing the difference though, she had learnt early on in life that she had better eyesight than most. It was still a shock seeing the way he reacted though.

She watched as Mrs Nott finished wiping the blackboard clean, before placing the duster down and wiping off her hands on a small towel kept on her desk. "Miss Beauregard," She started, finally paying the girl her attention after five minutes of silence. Edgar blinked at her teacher and waited for her to continue.

"What is your name?" Her teacher asked finally, raising a brow.

"Edgar." She replied, scratching her arm absentmindedly. Mrs Nott let out a hum of acknowledgement and took a seat at her desk, crossing her arms on it and watching the girl in front of her closely.

"You are very talented, Edgar. How long have you been practising?" Mrs Nott asked her. Edgar frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember, but as far as she could tell, she'd been doing it her whole life. She shrugged.

"I don't know. My whole life, I think." She answered eventually. Mrs Nott nodded as if she knew something Edgar didn't before leaning back in her seat, still watching the black haired girl carefully.

"I think you could be great if you pursued such a talent." She told her.

Edgar remained silent.

Mrs Nott cleared her throat uncomfortably at her gaze and fought to compose herself. "I was wondering if you'd like to do a Historical Painting to add to the display on the walls?" Here Mrs Nott gestured around the room, were various paintings and photos of different historical periods were hung. Edgar recognised quite a few of them herself. "It can be counted as extra-credit and can be added to your overall grade for this semester.

"What do you want depicted?" Edgar asked curiously. Mrs Nott shook her head.

"That can be up to you. Surprise me." She said. Edgar regarded her for a long moment, before nodding once.

"I can do it over the break." She told her, and much to Edgar's surprise, Mrs Nott smiled.

Edgar had never seen her smile once in the few weeks she'd been working at the school. She thought it strange.

"Excellent." Mrs Nott declared happily, making Edgar give her a wary look. "Now, let me write you up a pass for your next class."

And with that, Mrs Nott gave her the note and she was off to her next class.

* * *

"Okay everybody!" Coach Clapp announced loudly, motioning for everyone to come closer. He grinned in anticipation. "Today, we are going to play… _Dodgeball!"_ He announced. This statement was met with mixed reactions however. Half the class cheered, while the other half groaned loudly, and then maybe a few remained neutral.

Edgar was one of the few who remained silent, but that was mostly because she wasn't paying any attention more than anything. No, instead she was reading the large sign above the bleachers that read ' _Halloween Dance! Next Spooky Saturday!_ ' on an orange banner with large blocky black writing, decorated with various standard decorations; Skulls, Spiders, Witch Hats and whatnot.

Now, it wasn't that Edgar was interested in going (she didn't see the point of school dances at all, to be honest), it was just that the sign was just so… _eye catching._ And not in the necessarily good way either.

"Oi, Beauregard! What are you doing standing there daydreaming? Go join your team!" Coach Clapp demanded, snapping her out of her thoughts. Edgar looked and saw that the class had already been divided into two and blinked, wondering which team she was supposed to join.

She looked back at Coach Clapp expectantly. He facepalmed and shook his head, before pointing at the second team, the one wearing yellow wristbands.

The ones which were going to be Dodging the Balls.

Edgar cringed but shuffled her way over nonetheless, grabbing a wristband from the basket as she went. It wasn't that she was bad at sports or anything, (she was average, a solid C) but no one liked to be on the receiving end of dodgeball. The throwers all tended to get a little….excited.

She supposed her best course of action was just to get hit immediately so that she would sit out the rest of the game.

However, as soon as the first five balls were thrown –all aimed at poor Hillary Mason, hitting her smack in the face, stomach, legs and everywhere in between- that plan flew out the window. Hillary was knocked out immediately, the girl not even fully registering what had happened before she was out and the Dodgers watched in horror as her limp, unconscious, bruised and beaten body was carried on a stretcher to the nurse's office, blood dripping in her wake.

Edgar took one look at Coach Clapp's maniacal looking grin and shook her head, stepping discreetly out of the playing area.

She'd rather deal with another detention.


	6. Chapter V

**And here we see the Cullens! Yay!**

 **Thank you for all who reviewed the last chapter, and I shall actually reply to them all as soon as I post this! I love you all!**

 **Hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter V - Gold**

* * *

"Hello." A pleasant sounding voice stated, interrupting Edgar mid-stroke. The girl held the tainted paint brush up, just as it was about to touch the canvas, and turned to see who'd come to talk to her. It wasn't something that happened often -people going out of their way to talk to her-, so she found herself a little bit surprised.

Edgar was greeted with the sight of the _Angel of the Oneto Tomb_ look-alike, one of the beautiful beings who had been at that table sitting with _Aphrodite_ the other day. She stood on Edgar's right next to the Canvas Stand with a large smile, hands clasped behind her back and golden eyes sparkling brightly. She seemed expectant for some reason. Edgar blinked in confusion, wondering what she could possibly want. She looked around the rest of her art class, who were all busy with their own painting (they had been tasked with painting the bowl of fruit on the ornate marble draped with a drape of maroon Velvet acting as a screen behind them). Mr Brogue was watching the two of them curiously, but otherwise made no move to interrupt.

Her grey eyes turned back to the girl next to her, seeing how positively _eager_ she seemed to be, but for the life of her, Edgar couldn't fathom why. "Hullo." She replied after a long moment of staring at the smaller female.

"I was wondering if you'd be able to help me get the colour of the marble right? It seems to be a very light beige, but I can't get the correct shade. Mr Brogue said I should ask you." The pixie-like girl explained in a chipper voice. Edgar looked back to her own painting, at the stand she too was in the middle of painting. To her it was relatively simple, but she supposed that not everyone understood.

"It's quite simple actually, I just mixed a light Rose with a heavy amount of Cotton white, and then added thin streaks of Ivory before blending it in with a clean brush. However, don't do it too heavily, just brief up and down flicks from the tip should do it. Do you need an example?" Offered Edgar, since most people worked best by demonstration than theory. The dark haired girl next to her nodded.

"That would be really helpful, thanks." She said. Edgar reached into her bag next to her on the floor and pulled out a plain piece of paper. Dipping a brush into the white paint, she streaked it across the blank page before doing the same with the Rose she had mixed earlier on her palette. Quickly running the brush back and forth across the streaks until the two colours blended into a barely decipherable pink, she then added in the Ivory.

"Like I explained," Said Edgar as the girl next to her watched in interest, "You'll only need a little bit of it, since too much of it will end up making it too dark." She rinsed the bristles in the cup of water before drying it on her apron and dipping it into her newly mixed blend.

Edgar flicked her wrist four times in quick succession, each time the brush held delicately over the paper until she had achieved the right colour and handed it to the girl next to her, who took it and regarded it carefully for a moment before giving Edgar a bright smile.

"Thank you so much. It really helps." She gushed brightly, before tilting her head to the right and looking carefully at Edgar's painting. "You're very talented. My sister even thinks so and she's _very_ hard to impress."

"Sister?" Edgar asked in confusion, not knowing who she was referring to. The pixie-like girl smiled at her.

"The one you did the portrait of two weeks ago. She's my older sister." She explained, before her eyes widened as if she just remembered something. "Sorry I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Alice Cullen." She stated.

Edgar nodded in acknowledgement. "Your sister is Aphrodite then?" She asked in interest and Alice let out a laugh. Edgar thought it was a pleasant sound, it sounded more like the tinkling of wind chimes than anything.

"Her name is Rosalie. Although she _does_ kinda look like Aphrodite doesn't she?" Alice asked agreeably. Edgar nodded.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" Asked the smaller girl. Edgar blinked at her.

"Do you want me to?" She asked curiously. Edgar figured that most people didn't particularly care to know who she was, therefore she never bothered to give her name unless they went out of their way to ask for it.

Alice frowned at her. "Well of course I do! I gave you mine didn't I?" She asked, only causing Edgar more confusion.

"Yes you did, but that doesn't mean you wanted me to reciprocate in turn…"The grey eyed girl honestly didn't understand what Alice meant. How could Edgar have known she wanted to know her name if she hadn't asked?

Alice let out another laugh, but it was soft so as to not draw attention to themselves even though they were in the back. "Well, most people don't necessarily have to ask for another person's name when they offer their own. The other person automatically gives it. It's common courtesy." Alice didn't say it in a bad way, just merely explaining it like it was.

"It is?" Asked Edgar and Alice held her dainty hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"You're a strange one." The pixie-like girl declared. Edgar wasn't really sure how to take Alice's comment. Did she mean it in a good way or a bad way? _If anyone was strange_ , Edgar thought, _it was her_. "What's your name?" Alice asked with a genuine smile.

"My name is Edgar Beauregard." She frowned thoughtfully. Alice seemed nice enough she supposed, if a little weird. "It's a pleasure to meet you Alice." She added finally with a small smile.

Alice grinned back. "It's great to meet you too Edgar." She chirped. Mr Brogue chose that moment to loudly clear his throat, drawing both girl's attention. He was giving them both a frown, and Alice smiled sheepishly, before looking back at Edgar.

"Well, I better get back to my own painting." She said gesturing to her empty spot in the middle of the class. Edgar looked at her painting and realised that it was _extremely_ good. In fact, Edgar couldn't see a reason as to why Alice would need any help at all if her piece was as good as her own, maybe even _better_. She looked back at Alice again with a frown of confusion. .

"Thanks a lot for helping me Edgar." She said with a wave, before basically skipping back to her place.

 _The girl really was_ _weird_ , she thought.

* * *

"Her name is Edgar. Edgar Beauregard." Alice chirped brightly, taking a seat next to her siblings in the cafeteria after her art class ended. Jasper gave her hand a squeeze and she smiled at him.

"Who?" Asked Emmett in confusion, not knowing who she was referring to. Rosalie was giving her a wary frown.

"The girl who drew Rosalie's portrait of course." Alice huffed, before taking a sip of water. They found that water didn't really taste bad to them, well, it didn't really taste like _anything._ It just tasted like normal water, and it also helped with the thirst, so it was an added bonus. Rosalie's frown turned into a glare and she crossed her arms angrily.

" _Alice,"_ She hissed in displeasure. "I thought we agreed to leave her alone. It's too risky." The blond said but her younger sibling merely waved her hand uncaringly and gave her a smile, clearly not fazed by her ire.

"It's not like I'm really _doing_ anything Rosalie. I was just curious. Besides, I'm not the only one, Edward even spoke to her a couple of days ago." That shocked them, but they couldn't ask the subject in question since he was absent. Rosalie's glare darkened.

"When was this?" Emmett asked in confusion. Edward hadn't told them anything about it.

"On Sunday." Alice stated nonchalantly. "He was going to pick Esme up from the Soup Kitchen when he met Edgar at the Petrol Station."

"Edward didn't tell us." Jasper said with a frown. Rosalie growled.

"That idiot. He's putting our family in danger." She said and Emmett put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down.

"I'm sure it wasn't about anything important then, otherwise he would have said something. They probably just met at the checkout or something, and it's not like that's the type of place for an in depth conversation." He said jokingly, trying to lighten her up. Rosalie seemed to relax, but only a little.

She scowled. "We should just be careful. I don't want to have to move _again_ because you guys couldn't get over your curiosity." Jasper snorted, ignoring the dark look sent in her direction.

"You shouldn't have let her draw you then." He retorted. "I myself find myself curious. Any human brave enough to approach us without fear is worthy of our interest." He declared and Emmett grinned.

"I say. She just marched her way over here, and asked _Rose_ to draw her. _Rose."_ Emmett uttered pointedly, and the blond gave him a smack on the shoulder, making him cringe.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean, Emmett?" She asked in annoyance, but he merely chuckled.

"Nothing, nothing." He answered, backing off wisely. Alice giggled softly.

Just then, Edward entered the cafeteria (ignoring the longing stares he received from _both_ sexes) and made his way towards them. Rosalie's bad countenance returned immediately and she didn't even give him a chance to open his mouth before she was on him.

"You spoke to the girl." She accused, pointing at him. "Edgar Beauregard. I thought we _agreed_ not to pursue the topic." She stated. Edward rolled his eyes at her tone, only furthering to make her more annoyed. The others merely sighed at his actions.

"It's not like it was about anything serious. I just wanted to know her name." He answered flippantly. Rosalie fumed silently.

"Oh calm down Rosalie," Alice interjected before the blond could start insulting him -no doubt she already was, and judging by Edward's growing scowl, he could hear her loud and clear- "Like Emmett said, they just met up at the checkout. There's nothing bad about that, and it would have been rude to ignore her anyway." Rosalie turned her icy gaze on her.

"And what's _your_ excuse for talking to her, Alice?" She asked in a cold tone, making Jasper frown deeply at her. Alice gave an innocent smile.

"I needed help in Art Class." She answered casually. They all stared at her.

"You needed _help?"_ Jasper asked, dubious. Her siblings didn't look all that convinced either, in fact, Edward looked downright amused.

" _Right."_ He drawled, sarcasm palpable. Emmett snorted, but under Rosalie's angry glare, quickly swallowed some water on the pretence of choking, nevermind the fact that beings of their kind couldn't.

"Carlisle even told us not to talk to her!" The blond exclaimed indignantly and Alice shook her head a wagged her finger with a grin.

"No, he said we shouldn't _actively_ seek her out." She corrected in a knowing tone.

"Either way, you disobeyed his orders. You didn't need any help, you were just looking for an excuse to talk to her Alice." Rosalie stated. Alice sighed wearily.

"Honestly Rosalie, I think you're overreacting. You really should relax." She said to her sister. Edward winced. He knew what was coming and he was not looking forward to it.

Rosalie's eyes darkened, "No I will _not_ 'relax' Alice!" She spat vehemently, "One mistake. Just _one little mistake_ and our whole family is in danger! The Volturi doesn't give second chances, you _know_ that. This isn't a joke Alice. Perhaps pretending to be a human teenager for so long has dulled your intelligence, but please try and act your age and _think_ for a second, because your interest in one inconsequential human can get us all killed." And with that, she got up and stomped away, barely restraining herself in front of the other students.

The others watched her until she disappeared from sight, shocked at her outburst, Alice the most affected. Emmett gave her an apologetic smile, before following after the blond. Next to her, Jasper fumed angrily at how Rosalie had spoken to her, but Alice merely sighed softly and held his hand tighter. She _could_ acknowledge that Rosalie was correct and that she shouldn't be risking the safety of the family. She was being selfish, she _was aware_ ofthat, however she just had a really good feeling about Edgar.

There was something about the dreamy girl that had Alice interested, and though she couldn't see anything _especially_ big about her at present, she _knew_ that she wouldn't regret befriending the girl. And Alice knew she wasn't the only one interested, even _Edward_ was. Edward, who normally regarded humans with cold disdain and thinly veiled apathy had managed to find himself fascinated.

So, while Alice knew what she was doing was wrong, not to mention _extremely_ dangerous, she couldn't help but want to listen to her intuition. And even if sometimes her visions failed her, her instincts never had, and because of that, she trusted it wholeheartedly –consequences be damned.


	7. Chapter VI

**A little bit of what's going on in Edward's mind. I hope I didn't make him too OOC. If anyone has any advice on how to get him more in character, please advice, because God know's he's such a...weirdo.**

 **Hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **To Blackout~**

 **Would you mind terribly creating an account so we can talk more in depth about your darling Razz and your awesome drawing skillzzz? I'd love it if you'd unleash him on me so I can shower him with lots of love and affection ^.^**

* * *

 **Chapter VI - Pink**

* * *

Her name was Edgar. He supposed that it was fitting that her name would be just as unique she was, to the point that 'Edgar' was typically a male's name. One that had fallen out of fashion many, many decades ago, much like his own. It suited her though, much better than 'Lilian' did, or any other name he could think of. And thinking back to her own opinion of said name, he found that he agreed with her. 'Lilian' _was_ too soft for her, made for a much more…lady-like female. Lady-like in the sense of wearing pink skirts and dresses, and giggling prettily on cue, or fluttered their eyelashes daintily. No, Edgar was far from that. Not with her messy black hair, constantly adorned with twigs and leaves, no matter when he saw her -or her dirty, paint speckled apron she always wore on her with her tools comfortably seated in its pockets, or her nails always filled with charcoal or chalk. In his time, women would gasp in horror at her appearance and quickly shield their own impressionable daughters away from her, with warnings to never so much as _look_ at her.

He laughed slightly at the thought at how he would have reacted; probably much the same as he was now. From what he remembered of his human life, he had always been far too curious for his own good. He undoubtedly would have approached her, heedless of the consequences, just to find out more about the curious girl with eyes like the moon and a voice as flitting as the breeze.

But he was no longer human, and the consequences were much graver than a mere scolding from his mother to 'save face'.

So really, he _knew_ that he should listen to Rosalie and just pretend that the girl didn't exist –and definitely not acknowledge the fact that she was sitting at the back of the classroom, paying absolutely no heed to Mr Banner's lecture on Cellular Structure and instead debating on whether she should paint a depiction of _Liberty Leading the People_ by Eugene Delacroix or _Night Watch_ by Rembrandt van Rijn over the Halloween break for Mrs Nott's History class.

And wasn't _that_ a surprise –finding out that she was in two of his classes and he had never so much as realised her existence. How he had never known before was a mystery to him, because how could have not heard such an _interesting_ mind? Even in the cacophony of mundane thoughts, he would have thought someone thinking about Picasso's _Le Reve_ would have at least attracted some of his attention. And yet, he had been totally oblivious, and it had taken her marching up directly to their table for him to be aware of her. To think, if she hadn't done that, he would have continued living in ignorance.

Which, technically, would have been a _good_ thing actually, at least then he wouldn't have found himself so fascinated with her.

It was frustrating, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about her. She was just so _different._ Like for example how she had been completely immune to his charms. He remembered that one day at the petrol station, how she _had_ indeed acknowledged his looks, compared to him to Adonis even, it had been merely as a fact than anything else. Or how she had forgotten his presence next to her quite quickly, or how she was the one who thought _him_ strange. He wasn't used to that, most humans were immediately enamoured with him, even before he so much as opened his mouth to speak (which only made things worse for him).

It wasn't that he was vain enough that he felt insulted she didn't think much of him, in fact, he was very happy with that. It was refreshing that someone could actually _look_ at him without the risk of going into cardiac arrest –he just wasn't used to it.

…And he really shouldn't –get used to it, that is-, because getting used to it meant actually acknowledging her existence, which was a bad thing if her was trying (and failing) to forget about her.

It had gotten so bad that he was even considering pulling an Alice and maybe switching seats or making up some lackluster excuse just to get the chance to talk to her. Perhaps, if he found out more about her, he would realise that she was just as boring as the rest of the human population and grow tired of her (inwardly, he knew just by listening to her mind, that would be far from the case).

There was a part of him that could acknowledge that technically, his fascination with Edgar Beauregard wasn't really his fault, but mostly the fault of his long, dreary existence. It had been so long that he had come across something even _relatively_ interesting that his mind was desperate to latch on to her, just for something new to occupy it. Cursing one's existence everyday got a little old after a while. Eventually, one just had to accept it and move on, otherwise they'd go mad. God knew that's what everyone else did.

But would it really be so bad just to talk to her? Just one brief conversation wouldn't be enough to automatically get her suspicious. Especially since she didn't think that much of him anyway, so what reason would she have to be wary of him in the first place. He only wanted to understand her a little, just to calm the constant curiosity down. It seemed to him that even if he could read her mind, it didn't help much. It would be easy to get her attention, maybe he could 'casually' come across her working on something, make a nonchalant comment to show her just how art savvy he was too, and it would be simple from there…

No. No, he _couldn't._ It was wrong, and he should just ignore her. It shouldn't be this hard to forget a mere human teenager's existence, he had done it for decades.

…Albeit he had never encountered one as interesting as she was.

He resisted the urge to groan and kick the desk across the classroom in frustration.

Damn that human girl.

* * *

He had failed spectacularly at his goal to pretend she didn't exist. Yes indeed, here he was, actively seeking the girl out, trying to shove the heavily chastising voice in his mind back and pretend it didn't exist. Really, it wasn't really his fault. In fact, it was purely coincidental that he had come across her. All he had been doing was trying to get to his car and spend his lunch break drowning his thoughts in music. He had taken the back route behind the cafeteria in order to avoid as many people as possible, when he heard a familiar mind coming from within the forest, making him pause warily and concentrate on it.

Imagine his surprise when it turned out to be the source of his current problem, fully concentrated on drawing the brown, white speckled bunny currently nibbling on a berry bush.

In hindsight, he really should have just ignored it and carried on his way, but _of course_ he just could resist. And now he was trekking through the dirt path, trying to locate the owner of the mind, and cursing his incessant curiosity to hell and back.

And anyway, the forest was dangerous this time of year, winter was approaching quickly and many animals were stocking up on food to survive through it. What if an angry bear came stumbling across her (never mind the fact that there were no bears this close to town) and she, fragile human girl that she was, couldn't get away fast enough and ended up brutally killed? He was just trying to do the responsible thing and going to retrieve her.

He chose to ignore the fact that he would have walked past quite easily if it had been some other foolish human.

Five minutes later, after walking at a slow human speed (in his futile attempt to stall for time), found him standing behind a tree like a creepy stalker –he chose to ignore that fact too–, observing her hard at work. She was perched comfortably, legs crossed, leaning against a convenient log, trusty black bag sitting next to her with her art supplies scattered around. Her hand was moving slowly, unlike most other times she worked ( _not_ that he watched her very often, if at all) and she seemed to be in no rush to capture the sight of the surprisingly tranquil rabbit that was now resting a few feet away from her, watching her curiously with its black eyes.

He knew he should leave. He should just turn around right at that moment before he was discovered and go on about his day, with her being completely oblivious to the fact that he was ever there.

And yet, he couldn't seem to get his feet to move in the direction he wanted.

No, in fact, much to his horror, he found himself moving forward, towards her instead of _away_ from her.

The rabbit being more in tune with its instincts realised his presence first and fled quickly, much to her surprise. She blinked once, before turning her head in his direction, her large grey eyes focusing directly on him immediately.

It was too late to run away now, he thought to himself wearily, staring back at her.

The silence that followed was awkward, especially since he could hear her wondering what exactly he was doing there. And it was a very good question, he could give her that, for he himself didn't have the answer.

He never thought he would find himself uncomfortable by a non-vampire, but that was exactly what he was feeling under her unwavering, unblinking gaze. He could understand why the humans of the town were unnerved by her, it was as if she could see straight _through_ him.

He cleared his throat loudly, trying to break the stifling silence (she apparently didn't realise it; Emmett's observation of her lack of basic social understanding was entirely sound), and tried to look as unthreatening as possible (a bit hard to do when he had just emerged from behind a tree in the middle of the forest), giving her a small smile.

She didn't return it. In fact, it only seemed to confuse her _more._

It was during these moments that he wished more than ever that he could be killed. What he wouldn't give to be struck down by lightning at that exact moment just to avoid this whole embarrassing ordeal. He deserved it though, he had brought it entirely upon himself, he should have just left when he had the chance.

She was still watching him, and he fumbled for something to say that could salvage the situation. "Fancy seeing you here." Was all he could come up with. Him, a century old, well-learned vampire, infinitely times more intelligent than a normal human being, who had studied the English language from top to bottom more times than anyone could count, and that was _the best he could come up with_?

 _Oh dear God, kill me now,_ he thought miserably.

Edgar, of course, bless her socially impaired soul, didn't register anything wrong with what he said, much to his relief. Instead, she was merely searching for a correct way to reply to what he had said.

He listened anxiously as she wracked her brain for an appropriate response to his statement, before she simply shrugged "I frequently spend my lunch break in the forest." The black haired girl said, plucking a leaf from her hair, looking away from him and blinking for the first time in five minutes. "Did you need something? You must have actively searched me out since there is no possibly way that you just stumbled upon me within this large area." And her voice was totally calm and serene as she said this, sounding as if she didn't particularly care about his reply one way or another.

It unnerved him even more.

He fumbled weakly for an appropriate excuse, "The forest isn't very safe…You shouldn't stay here alone." He hoped it didn't come off as lamely as he thought it sounded. Honestly, what happened to his earlier plan of cool calm and collected? Of casually showing her that he too was quite knowledgeable in art. Not acting as awkward as a bumbling, nerve-wrecked teenage boy.

She looked at him blankly, far cry from how fast her mind was working, full of information on seasonal behavioural patterns of dangerous woodland creatures, before coming to the conclusion that he was indeed correct, but since she didn't feel like leaving just yet, the only logical solution would be for him to stay with her, that way she wouldn't be 'alone'.

And he of course, knew that he couldn't exactly refuse, since he was the one who told her she should stay alone in the first place, and so when she eventually said, "Then you should stay. I won't be alone then." All he could do was sigh wearily, and do as told, taking a seat across from her, a polite distance away.

She then proceeded to ignore him completely and go back to her drawing, much to his frustration. How could she do so effortlessly what he had been trying (and failing) to do for _weeks_?

It was done in greyscale, and yet, like always, it looked more like a half-done photograph than anything captured by human hands, and even the fur of the rabbit looked like it had been drawn strand by strand. He wondered if even _Esme_ could do it so well.

"You're very talented." He blurted before he could stop himself and _really_ what in the world was going on with him that day? It was as if his brain had just decided to shut down and leave him helpless.

"I know." She answered, not even pausing in her actions. She didn't say it in an arrogant way either, just in a way that said that she was well aware of her gift, and that was that. Nothing more, nothing less.

Suddenly, he realised that he had never told her his name, and she hadn't even bothered to ask. She was completely at ease being in his presence, the presence of a complete stranger who had followed her into the forest. He could be a serial killer for all she knew!

Had she no sense of self-preservation?!

"Are you not uncomfortable?" He asked incredulously, just so he could gauge her reaction to that, however, her mind clearly showed that no, she was not.

"No." She answered honestly. "Why would I be?" And she was so _genuinely_ confused that he could only stare at her in horror for a long moment wondering how it was possible for someone to be as socially stunted as she was.

"You don't even know my name! I could be a killer for all you know!" He exclaimed. That made her pause in the middle of erasing a little bit off the rabbit's ears, though she still didn't look at him.

Instead, she simply blinked down at the sketchpad as if it were the bunny who had spoken and asked, "Well, are you?"

Her tone was curious, like she was just asking about what his favourite colour was or some other trivial piece of information, and he found himself further dismayed.

"No, but you shouldn't invite random people you don't know to sit with you in the middle of the forest." He scolded and she shrugged, resuming her previous actions and dropping the eraser into one of her apron pockets.

"You're the only random person I've come across in the forest in the first place." She answered simply, before shutting the sketchpad and beginning to pack up her things. He was confused for a moment before he heard the warning bell ring and her thoughts of begrudgingly being forced by her father and Principal Johnson to always attend class or else her supply budget would be cut down by half.

He watched dumbly as she stood, picked up her black crossbag and began floating away, disappearing down the path without so much as a word of "Goodbye".

And she still hadn't bothered asking his name.


	8. Chapter VII

**I swear today just crept up on me like a fucking ninja. Who knew two days could pass by so quickly?**

 **Anyway, I literally just finished this chapter and did a speed proof-reading so if their are any faults, would someone please kindly point them out?**

 **Um. A lot of people are interested to see if Bella will be in the fic. Honestly, I have no idea. I haven't planned all that far myself. I'm literally just bullshitting my way through this whole fic XD**

 **This fic currently takes place before Canon events start, so like, in October and Bella arrives in Jan...if she comes, I have no idea what I'd do with her, since I'm not a fan of Love Triangles. She'll probably just sit there and stare longingly at Edward or something. Who knows? Meh.**

 **Sorry about the long Author's note by the way...it just flew away with me.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter VII - Yellow**

* * *

Edgar Beauregard, for all her talents in the art department, wasn't very much of a cook. Of course, she knew the basics, being taught a few dishes by her mother, however, her main problem was that she had an odd habit of adding food colouring into almost everything except vegetables. She claimed that food should also look good because there was no reason as to why it _shouldn't,_ and so if she thought that yellow chicken and green rice looked went well to enhance the colour of the orange carrots and purple beetroot, then that's exactly what they'd be eating for dinner that night.

Charles found it amusing really (that is, after the novelty of eating pink pasta wore off), especially whenever they had guests over. It didn't happen very often after the _incident,_ but he had invited a couple of business partners over to close a deal a few times, and their reactions to his daughter's cooking never failed to make him chortle with laughter. But really, all Charles cared about was whether the food tasted good or not, and since the food colouring did nothing to upset the flavour of whatever they were eating that night, then he just took it in stride.

Sometimes though, when he had the time and was in the mood for a little semblance of normality, he would do the cooking. Edgar would pout at him whenever she saw how 'boring' the main dish was, but he made sure to liven things up by including lots of bright coloured vegetables. She had always been like that as far as he could remember; ever since she was a baby she wanted to eat 'bright foods', and Elizabeth would simply shake her head in fond amusement and add plenty veggies. Charles remembered when they had baked green chocolate chip cookies and his daughter had offered them to him with such an air of accomplishment that he couldn't help but pull her into a big hug as a sign of his heartfelt appreciation. His wife of course, had immediately snapped as many photos as she could of the occasion, always eager to 'capture memories'.

Oh, how he missed Elizabeth.

And so, as Charles stared down at his plate of navy blue mashed potatoes, relatively normal looking minced-meat and sauce, mixed vegetables sitting prettily on the side, all he could do was sigh in fond exasperation before spearing a green-bean and resigning himself to yet another unique meal.

He looked at his daughter who was sitting across the round dinner table, fork held mid-air, plate pushed aside and frowning over her European History textbook. He managed to make out the heading on the page she was reading, _"Elizabeth II – The Golden Age of Britain"_ and smiled in satisfaction.

"I'm glad to see you're finally putting in _some_ effort into your studies." He declared happily. Edgar barely lifted her head to acknowledge his words, simply giving him a dry look from the corner of her eyes that clearly said exactly what she thought of his enthusiasm.

It had been a struggle for him to get her to even _touch_ any of her textbooks, despite Principal Johnson's clear threat of 'grave consequences'. Knowing Edgar, she was probably aiming to get expelled, because that way she wouldn't have to bother with the much hate schoolwork. Personally, Charles could relate, even he as a teenager despised any semblance of homework. What young person didn't? In fact, he _still_ hated it, although now that he was an adult, it had been bumped up to 'paper work'. And really, he didn't blame her for not wanting to bother with any of the homework or assignments. It wasn't as if she was stupid or anything. Actually, she was brilliant, and soaked up all the information like a sponge –she just didn't see how any of said information was relevant to her or her daily life.

To be honest, Charles didn't see how either.

 _Not_ that he would ever admit it, since he was supposed to be the 'responsible' adult, and so, desperate measures had to be taken to insure she at least put in a little effort, resulting in him threatening to cut down her monthly supply budget by half. To a normal person, this wouldn't sound like much of a punishment, especially since her normal budget ranged in the thousands, however, had one actually _seen_ her reaction to such a declaration, they would have thought he had threatened to shut her up in tower for the rest of her life with no chance of ever seeing daylight again.

Needless to say, after much begging and pleading, his daughter had finally caved, thus resulting in her reluctantly doing her assigned homework.

It was a novel sight to see his daughter hunched over thick hardback textbooks like a _normal_ teenager, and even after a whole week, he would still do a double-take whenever he entered the kitchen and found her slaving away at her Algebra homework instead of some fancy portrait or another.

Charles wasn't much of a conversationalist, but his curiosity was getting the best of him, especially with the mind-boggling sight in front of him, and so he chose to inquire about how she was doing at school now that she was actually starting to participate. "How was school today?" He asked, watching her carefully. Edgar shrugged.

"It was alright." She answered simply, and Charles inwardly rolled his eyes, because with Edgar you had to ask _specific_ questions, lest one was satisfied with short, to the point answers with no details included whatsoever.

"Did anything interesting happen today? Something different from normal?" He tried again, and she blinked slowly at her textbook, before shutting it with a small huff and levelling him with the full attention of her large grey eyes.

"A strange male followed me into the forest behind school in order to warn me of the dangers of woodland creatures during the late autumn season." She said evenly. Charles paused in the middle of bringing a carrot to his mouth and frowned. It took a moment of what she said to sink in, especially since she had said it in such an uncaring and utterly nonchalant tone that the full gravity of it was not expressed.

Finally, when his brain processed that yes indeed, someone had followed his little girl into the forest, he threatened to have an aneurysm right then and there.

"Edgar," He started in a strained voice, "Please explain what the _hell_ you are talking about. In ex _cessive_ detail." He ordered, gripping the fork in his hand so hard that it might as well be embedded into his palm, and the absolute _worst_ part was that she seemed perfectly calm, clearly not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

But _of course_ she wouldn't, and he really shouldn't have been so surprised. This was the girl who randomly stopped in the middle of busy roads just to capture 'the perfect angle of that lampshade', and then was confused when people bodily tackled her out of the way of a speeding car.

So really, there was no reason for him to be shocked.

Edgar, for her part, was still cool, calm and collected, unlike her secretly panicking father. "Well, it was during Lunch Break, and like I frequently do, I decided to spend my free time in the forest behind the school." She started. Charles heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples wearily, feeling like he was seventy-seven instead of thirty-seven. His daughter had a tendency to age people prematurely.

"How many times have I told you not to go into the forest?" He asked in a tight voice. She stared at him a long moment, before opening her mouth to reply.

"You told me not to go too deep into the forest. I didn't." She answered. Charles put down his fork and took a long sip of his glass of water to calm himself down.

Honestly, he was starting to contemplate placing a tracker on his daughter.

"Continue then." He sighed and she nodded.

"I sat against a log, and there was a rabbit that was also taking its lunch break, and so while it had its meal, I decided to do a sketch of it. About five minutes after I arrived, Adonis stepped out from behind a tree, scaring the poor rabbit away-"Charles held up a hand to stop her and gave her an incredulous look.

"Adonis?" He asked wondering if his daughter had somehow had a brush with a Mythological God. It would certainly make sense, in a weird way. 'Strange man in the forest' she had said. Of course, Charles didn't believe in such things, but it certainly made him feel better as opposed to the prospect that his daughter had had an encounter with a crazy stalker/rapist.

"It's not his real name –well, I don't think so-, I refer to him as such since he is what I assume Adonis would look like if he existed. If you saw him, you'd think the same." She answered with a casual shrug.

 _Okay¸_ scratch that. A crazy, yet oddly _good-looking_ stalker/rapist.

It was always those ones you had to watch out for.

Charles didn't even want her to carry on with her explanation anymore. "I don't want to hear anything more, otherwise I fear I'll start hyperventilating." He wasn't even exaggerating, he could feel his heart beat start to race. "Just avoid him from now on." He ordered seriously. Edgar nodded once in easy acceptance.

"I didn't much like him anyway." She replied, much to his relief.

Honestly, it was times like these that he wished Elizabeth were still alive.

* * *

Edgar stood in front of a large oak door, on the porch of a quaint yellow painted house, complete with a white picket fence and everything. She looked down at the address on the paper one last time to confirm that she was at the right place before ringing the doorbell once and stepping back to wait.

After a few seconds, she heard footsteps approaching the door, before it was opened by a vaguely familiar woman. She had a kind face, with her grey hair tied up in a bun and wearing a red cooking apron. She smiled brightly when she saw Edgar.

"Hello young lady," She greeted pleasantly, "And how may I help you today?" She asked, tilting her head slightly.

Edgar held out a hand, "Hello. I'm Edgar Beauregard and Mr Smith requested I come do a formal portrait of his wife. That would be you, I assume?" Asked Edgar, though she was fairly sure this was the woman. Said woman's brown eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh yes!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I remember you from the beach. A wonderful drawing you did of me dearie. Come in then!" She declared, stepping aside for Edgar to enter. It was a nice simple house, the type one would raise a family in. In fact, she could see numerous photos hung across the walls of who she assumed to be the Smith's children.

"My name is Julia Smith by the way, thank you so much for coming." Mrs Smith gushed, leading Edgar into the kitchen where they found a blond with shaggy hair sitting at the counter, hunched over some notebooks. He looked up when they entered, eyes resting on Edgar curiously for a moment before going back to his work. Their kitchen was quite large and open, with plenty light streaming in. She got the feeling that it was used very often too. Mrs Smith just seemed to come off as that type of woman.

"Please take a seat," The old woman declared, heading over to a pot on the stove. "And that boy over there –the impolite one who didn't even bother to introduce himself-" this caused the male in question to roll his eyes, "Is our youngest son, Daniel." She introduced as Edgar took a seat on the furthest counter stool away from "Daniel", placing the basket of paint bottles down on the floor next to her and the large canvas pad she had been keeping under her arm on the counter.

"Hello Daniel." She greeted just for politeness sake than anything. Daniel nodded to her but otherwise didn't say anything. His mother tsked in displeasure but didn't push him, instead removing the boiling pot from the stove.

"You'll have to forgive me Edgar Dear, I was in the middle of preparing dinner when you arrived. If you could just wait a few minutes and I'll be with you." Mrs Smith explained, draining the pasta in the sink. "You're welcome to help yourself to anything in the fridge." She declared.

Edgar's eyes drifted to the right, where the large silver object was seated in a specially made nook, but she didn't particularly feel like anything at that moment so she remained seated.

"How old are you dear?" Mrs Smith asked curiously, placing the pot in the dishwasher after rinsing it. Edgar blinked at her.

"I'm seventeen." She answered and Mrs Smith's eyes widened in surprise.

"You're very talented for your age!" She exclaimed, moving to cupboard and pulling out the spice rack, "Daniel here is a classical musician. He's been playing the violin since he was just four years old." She declared, and Edgar noticed how he stiffened in her peripheral vision. He didn't seem to like attention very much.

His mother continued, heedless of his discomfort. "I think being artists, you two should get along swimmingly."

The two 'artists' in question exchanged a brief, wordless glance.

Honestly, Edgar really had nothing to say to that, considering the fact she didn't 'play well' with others, and so she figured not saying anything would be the best course of action. She guessed Daniel didn't have anything to say either, judging by his silence.

Mrs Smith paused in the middle of shaking a bottle of black pepper over a red pot on the stove and gave the two of them a confused look, obviously not understanding why none of them had said anything.

She sighed softly, before shaking her head slightly.

"Young people." Mrs Smith muttered softly.

Daniel snorted softly.


	9. Chapter VIII

**I know I'm a day late (it's not Midnight just yet, MWAHAHA) and I do apologise for that, but I was really busy this weekend and I was far too tired to write anything noteworthy. Ha. Funny. Amirite?**

 ***cough***

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and woah, you guys seemed to like Daniel huh? I admit he and Edgar would make a good couple, however this is strictly Edgar...Or is it Edward? Their ship name just translate to one of their names in the end, lmfao. Anyway, we WILL be seeing quite a bit of Daniel, since his purpose in this fic is to become Edgar's best and only friend. Maybe he can have a little crush on her if you guys REALLY want, but it won't amount to anything in the end. It would probably only be for humorous effect.**

 **I started the chapter off in Edgar's perspective but it kinda changed into Dan's and since I really could find no good way of changing the first part, it's gonna stay like that. We also see what another person thinks of Edgar too, so I suppose that's interesting?**

 **Long AN, I know. Sorry, but they're always important sooo.**

 **How many of you guys actually read my ANs anyway? Write "** Green **" in a review if you do. I'm curious.**

 **Okay, I should stop now.**

 **Hope you all enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Constructive Criticism (and isn't word hard to write?) is much appreciated!**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter VIII - Green**

* * *

"So, um…Your name is Edgar?" An unfamiliar voice asked, interrupting the black haired girl as she set up her Canvas Stand on the green, paint splattered plastic now set on the Smith's living room floor. She looked up from where she was crouching next to one of the wooden legs to see a fidgeting…David? At least she thought so, she couldn't remember his name properly. Either, he was leaning against the arch that served as the living room entrance, shifting from what foot to the other every few seconds, seemingly nervous for some reason. He held his textbooks and schools things in his arms, so she assumed he was about to go upstairs and had stopped to inquire about her name for some reason.

She blinked at him once, before going back to setting up the stand, making sure it was stable. "Yes it is. Yours is David?" She asked half-heartedly, standing up and putting pressure on the stand to make sure it was sturdy and wouldn't collapse as she worked.

"Daniel." He corrected awkwardly. She nodded in acknowledgement but didn't otherwise reply. He coughed. "Isn't Edgar a boy's name?" He asked curiously, watching as she moved her basket of paints next to her intended work station.

"Yes." Edgar answered simply. Daniel stared at her incredulously. Couldn't she see he was at least trying to be friendly? She wasn't making anything easy, since she was basically ignoring him. He felt annoyance start to creep in. He didn't want to talk her all that much either. His mother had immediately scolded him for his standoffishness (Nevermind the fact that he was just naturally quiet) as soon as the girl had left the kitchen and had forced him to at least make an effort to talk to the person who had 'gone out of her way'. He had resisted the urge to say that it wasn't him who requested to have a portrait done.

He contemplated heading upstairs right there and then, but an image of his mother glaring angrily at him floated around his head and he sighed, knowing that he would at least have to _try,_ but really, she wasn't making it easy for him. "It's not very fun talking to a brick wall, you know?" He said irritably. He watched as she merely shrugged, not even bothering to look at him.

"I can't imagine that it would be." She agreed looking at him from where she was sitting on the stool in front of the Canvas Stand, placing her pencils and other drawing items on the small table that had been positioned earlier. She looked so utterly nonchalant, her face matching her tone completely, and Daniel couldn't tell whether she was being serious, sarcastic, or just plain joking.

He frowned thoughtfully. Was she always so utterly blasé? He couldn't imagine what having an actual conversation with her would be like. Probably terrible, if her reaction (more like _non-_ reaction) to his annoyance was so uncaring. She just seemed like the type to take even the most absurd things with ease. As if nothing could even create a slight bump in her path. Daniel squinted at her carefully, and decided to test his new found theory.

"I like dogs." He declared suddenly, gauging her reaction carefully. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but he noticed how she didn't even pause slightly in her actions of sharpening her pencils.

"That's nice." The black haired girl answered. And it wasn't even in the normally condescending way it would have come off as had someone else said it. No, she stated it as a fact, like she was thinking "He likes dogs. That's fine." And not "I really don't care that he likes dogs". He tilted his head curiously, his interest peaked.

"Do you like dogs?" He tried again. She shook her head and placed a pencil down before reaching for another.

"No." She answered simply. Blunt, straight to the point, and yet, not mean or derisive.

"Why don't you like dogs?" He asked, and _still,_ she didn't look at him.

"Because I find them too noisy and eager." _Okay_ , Daniel thought to himself. That was a legitimate reason. Though she still didn't insert any more detail than necessary. Time for the next question, he decided.

"Which animal do you like?" He tried again. This made her pause mid pencil twist and blink thoughtfully down at the sharpener.

"Domestic or Wild?" She asked for clarification and he found himself frowning slightly because _of course_ she would ask that. She just came off as that type of person. He supposed though, it was his fault for not clarifying what he meant in the first place.

"Domestic." He clarified.

"Cats. I like cats." She said eventually.

"Why do you like cats?" Daniel asked, really getting into things and finally, _finally_ she looked at him, large grey eyes staring right at him. He squirmed slightly. He had heard the rumours about the weird artsy girl through the town, though most people thought she was blind. Seeing her for himself, obviously this was not the case. But he could admit that she was slightly unnerving.

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" She retorted, making him chuckle slightly. So she _did_ eventually have a limit. But yet again, she didn't sound annoyed, just curious. Much like himself.

"I'm testing out a theory." He told her honestly, shrugging. She stared at him for a long moment, before looking away, and setting the last sharpened pencil down on the table in the neat row she had created. He noticed everything was neat on the table, placed properly in their assigned spots.

"Have you confirmed anything noteworthy?" She asked, making him think. Had he? He supposed so. In a way, what he was doing was weird. Something he wouldn't have normally have done. The girl had just come to his house to paint a portrait of his mother, and yes he _had_ been forced into talking to her, but the impromptu experiment was entirely his own idea. In his defence, how could he have _not_ wondered whether or not she was always so unaffected by everything? Her replies were just asking for it.

He remembered that he answered her question, and so he shrugged again. "Maybe."

He heard his mother coming down the stairs, and he saw her dressed in a fancy black dress with his grandmother's pearls, her makeup done up primly and her hair in a tight bun, obviously intending the portrait of her looking her best. Subtly he rolled his eyes, and looked back at Edgar who was idly taking in the details of their living room, now that she had all her things prepared.

"That's nice." She said again. He watched her for a moment, sitting in the middle of his living room on a small wooden chair brought from the basement, looking utterly at ease with her surroundings. She didn't seem nervous or anything. Most people were uncomfortable the first time in a stranger's house, but she looked perfectly fine. It was weird, he thought.

"Oh great! You've already set everything up!" His mother exclaimed happily, entering the living room with a big smile on her red painted lips. Edgar nodded at her in confirmation. "I'm sorry for taking so long, but I just had to get dressed up, Dear. If it's going to be something captured forever, I have to look great, don't I?" She asked.

"I suppose." Was the only thing the grey eyed girl said in response.

Daniel shifted slightly, applying his weight to his left leg and holding his things tighter to his chest. He watched as his mother took her place on their red couch as Edgar explained what they would be doing and his mother nodding along in understanding. Sighing wearily and tucking an errant strand of blond hair behind his ear, he spared the…unique girl one last glance before turning on his heel and heading upstairs. Seeing as his Mum had entered the premises, and he really had nothing more to say, he decided to leave before his mother could rope him into doing anything else.

Like becoming friends with the girl.

* * *

Angela Weber didn't particularly like Forks High all that much. Though, since it was the only High School for miles other than the one on the Quileute reserve down in La Push –and outsiders weren't very welcome there-, she had no choice but to attend. She was just happy that she was almost finished and only had her senior year left.

It wasn't that she was being bullied or anything like that, in fact, she did have a few close friends. How could she not when most of the students were all born and raised in Forks, and everyone basically grew up together? It was just that she found the place…superficial. Fake. Since there was no drama at all within their small town, obviously the resident teens took it upon themselves to make some, if only to shake things up a little, meaning that almost every week there was a new rumour about so and so doing such and such during this and that. Luckily, she herself had never been subjected to such rumours, since she was the general blend into the scenery kind of girl, but she knew quite a few people who had.

Including one such Edgar Beauregard.

Especially after the whole thing with the girl marching straight up to the Cullen table, and actually _sitting_ there. Sure, she hadn't done it for long, but the fact remained that she _had._ And according to the rest of the school, that was enough to warrant a whole lot of attention. And not necessarily the good kind.

Now, Angela personally never paid much attention to rumours, because as the daughter of a Priest, she was taught to never judge or criticize others, but she did hear quite a few. She knew of Edgar Beauregard, _everyone_ did. She was the strange and supposedly blind girl (though Angela didn't know how in the world anyone could believe that since her obsession and extreme talent in art was even more famous throughout the small town than she was, and how could she accomplish such awe-striking pieces if she couldn't see?) which all of their parents told them to avoid under all circumstances as children. Well, her father hadn't said it in those words exactly, but she knew that he hadn't wanted her playing with the girl either. Of course, Angela had always wondered _why_ none of the adults liked her, because sure, maybe she was a little different and had creepy eyes, but that was no reason to ostracize her. Not that the girl in question ever seemed to have a problem or be affected by their actions. That was really the only reason as to why Angela had never disobeyed her father's orders and become friends with the girl –because Edgar herself had seemed perfectly fine and content being alone. Angela had watched her when she was younger (and like now, still did so sometimes), watched as she floated through town happily, lost in her own little world and Angela had wondered numerous times how one could be so utterly happy being all alone. She herself had been painfully shy as a little kid, and until Jessica had gone out of her way to talk to her when she was nine, had always felt so sad and _lonely._ She couldn't imagine how someone could feel content all alone.

She had been surprised to see that the other kids didn't bother asking themselves that question. In fact, they didn't bother paying Edgar any attention at all. If they were playing tag and Edgar was in the vicinity? No problem, they just carried on as if she wasn't there. In Primary school and they had to work in groups? No problem, there were an odd number of students anyway. There was one last pillow left during reading time in Kindergarten? No problem, it was already taken by Tommy.

Nevermind the fact that Tommy didn't even exist.

And through all of that, Edgar would simply shrug uncaringly and find somewhere else to explore, or just work alone, or find somewhere else to sit.

That's what Angela hated. The fact that the girl _just didn't care_. Either that, or she didn't seem to recognise anything was wrong. Nevertheless, Angela loathed it. She loathed the fact that one person could just be so okay with being alone. With being shut out. Never once had she seen the girl cry, or complain, or get angry. All she ever did was stare at you for a long time (and really, how could someone go so long without blinking?) with a blank face before carrying on as if nothing had happened. Angela had always been taught to be kind to others, and to treat them how you yourself wanted to be treated. And she knew for a fact that she would never like to be treated the way everyone treated Edgar.

It was something that a part of her would always regret –not having enough courage to at _least_ talk to the other girl. Maybe if she had, she could have found out why nobody seemed to approve of her, and then she too could've joined the 'ignore-Edgar-Beauregard' train.

She wasn't about to kid herself though. She wasn't going to suddenly going to declare her new found determination on becoming friends with the girl, because she knew she'd never be able to do it. Because even if her dad had _indeed_ allowed her to associate with Edgar, she wouldn't have had the guts to approach her by herself. She was too shy for that. Jessica had been a life-saver, because she probably would have ended up lonely and sad had the bubbly blond not approached her. It might sound weird to others, especially the victims of said blond themselves (Jessica was a main player in the 'create-a-new-rumour mill'), but she honestly was Angela's best-friend. Sure she could be mean and maybe a little conniving towards others, she was never like that to her own friends. She protected her friends and defended them always. She was reliable and always ready to help when needed. That's what really mattered in the end.

Angela wished she could've been that person to Edgar. A person the other girl could rely on, smile and laugh with (to that day, Angela had never once even heard her laugh, and it had gotten worse after _the incident_ in which her mother died –from then on, the girl had basically stopped genuinely smiling entirely, and if that wasn't sad, then Angela didn't know what was), or at least be able to have a conversation with.

But she wasn't that person, so she couldn't be any of those things.

And so all Angela could do was watch as Edgar Beauregard continued to float around aimlessly and live inside her own little world, completely separated from everything, and every _one_ else.


	10. Chapter IX

**Its three am. I'm a few hours late. Eh, whatever.**

 **I don't much like this chapter, but at least we finally see Edward again, so yay for that I suppose.**

 **I'm really tired and I just skimmed it for mistakes, so if anyone spots anything weird, please tell me and I'll fix it.**

 **Hope you enjoy it :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter IX - Blue**

* * *

"I'm telling you Edward, as soon as we get home, I demand a rematch." Emmett declared pointedly Monday morning as they walked to Spanish with Mrs Goff, giving him a determined look and thinking about how unfair it was that he could never win against his 'creepy' mind-reading brother.

Edward gave a nonchalant smirk, ignoring the gawking he received from the other occupants of the hallway with ease and shrugged. "It's not _my_ fault you still don't know how to block out your real thoughts. You'd think after decades of knowing me you would have learned by now." He let out a laugh and ducked under the swipe his brother sent him, not even bothering to reproach him for his slightly faster than human speed. It was all in good fun anyway, and Emmett could be careful when he wanted to. He wasn't _really_ aiming to hit him after all –doing that would most probably result in Edward crashing into the lockers and maybe only _two_ walls if he was lucky and Emmett was using his weakest strength. Either way, it was obviously not something they needed.

His dark haired brother glared half-heartedly at him, "Yeah well, between learning how to bypass your weird mind-tricks and Alice's creepy fortune telling, excuse me if it's a little hard." He grumbled as they turned the corner. Edward let out a small huff of amusement at his brother's indignation.

Honestly, riling up Emmett was far too amusing for his own good.

 _I wonder if father will let me go to the Lauriana Burkley gallery this weekend,_ A familiar mind mused, making Edward's senses sharpen as he immediately searched for the owner. _He knows I do adore her work on Surrealism. Maybe if I hurry and finish Mrs Brighton's painting I can deliver it on Friday, that way since I'll already be in Seattle, he'll have no reason to refuse…_

He quickly pinpointed her in the crowd, seeing her at the far end of the hallway with a thoughtful look on her face, Government textbooks tucked into her arms and expertly weaving through the rushing sea of students.

That is until one Lauren Mallory found it funny to purposely stumble into her, resulting in Edgar falling backwards and dropping all her things. Lauren gave derisive smirk.

"Sorry," She said, but her tone of voice and facial expression showed that she clearly wasn't sorry at all, it was so obvious that even Edward would be able to tell even if he wasn't able to read her mind. He glared at the blond haired human, feeling anger pool in his stomach at her actions. How dare she have the audacity to do that? Was she really so insecure that she needed to prey on others to make herself feel better? Lauren gave one last haughty smirk before turning on her heel and walking away –all the better for her, otherwise Edward was tempted to tell her just what he thought of her.

"That wasn't very nice." Emmett remarked with a displeased frown. Edward ignored him and immediately headed to help an unbothered Edgar. His brother sighed but nonetheless followed after him.

 _Apparently Lauren Mallory's Motor Coordination proficiency is lacking, perhaps it would be better for her to see a specialist,_ The black haired girl thought idly as she gathered her papers. It still baffled him as to how someone could be so utterly oblivious to basic social interaction. How could she genuinely not suspect Lauren of intentionally hindering her course? He found it both amusing and worrying at the same time. Her ignorance would get her in trouble one day, he thought in exasperation.

He crouched in front of her and picked up her blue doodle covered notebook, looking down at it in interest for a moment and studying her name written in bold Calligraphy at the top. He supposed that it was expected that her handwriting would be just as beautiful as her artwork.

"Here." He said, handing it to her after a long moment, ignoring Emmett's questioning thoughts of _"Why in the world had he taken so long just to hand over as book?"_ Her silver eyes lifted from the ground and met his, and it seemed to him that in those short few seconds, she could she into his soul and unravel all of his secrets. For some reason, he couldn't break his gaze, no matter how much he wanted to, until _finally_ after what seemed like eternity, she looked away, blinking a few times before accepting it with a grateful nod and standing, dusting her hands on her signature apron. He felt his brother's curious eyes on him and heard his questions, but once again, Emmett was pointedly ignored.

 _It's Farnese Hercules and Adonis,_ She remarked to herself. Edward's lips twitched slightly in amusement at the titles. That was another thing about her –yes she acknowledged their physical attractiveness, but that was it. She wasn't 'dazzled' by them like the other humans who could barely even think coherently in their presence.

"Thank you." She told them, though she was unsure if that was the best thing to say in such a situation. She was confused as to why they had even bothered to stop and help. According to her observations, humans rarely ever did something of their free will unless they had something to gain, which was entirely correct -he _would_ know. However, little did she know that they _weren't_ human, and so normal human behaviours didn't apply to them.

And anyway, it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Something both his human mother and Esme would praise him for.

Next to him, Emmett grinned. "Not a problem. Just doing our civil duty as protectors of the weak and defenders of the helpless!" He stated jokingly. Edgar gave him a blank stare, and he could hear her trying to figure out what he meant. Clearly, the joke was lost on her.

Emmett for his part, was wondering if it wasn't as funny as he thought it was since she hadn't laughed. Or if she just had no sense of humor at all. Edward resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation at the both of them.

"I see…" She finally answered, though she was still confused.

Emmett coughed awkwardly, "So, um, Edgar right?" He asked, though he already knew her name. The girl in question simply nodded in confirmation. He placed a hand on his broad chest. "I'm Emmett," He introduced, before gesturing at his companion. "And this is my younger brother, Edward." Edward gave her a smile.

She didn't return it.

Emmett continued on, oblivious. "Nice to meet you." He said with an easy going grin. "You did a really great drawing of Rose by the way. It looked exactly like her! She's even framed it." He told her. Edgar's mind took a second to process who this 'Rosalie' was, but then her first encounter with them flashed through her mind, as well as her conversation with Alice in Art class the previous week.

"Aphrodite you mean?" She inquired and he snorted. Next to him, Emmett registered what she had just said, and he let out a booming laugh, drawing a few surprised stares from the other occupants of the large corridor.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Agreed Emmett. Suddenly, Edward was assaulted by a long train of angry insults coming from their current subject of conversation and he winced. It seemed that the Aphrodite in question had found them and wasn't very happy.

Edgar noticed the fuming blond behind them and compared her to an angry arch-angel about to descend her wrath upon the sinful humans of Earth. Edward resisted the urge to laugh, because it was the most apt description he had ever heard.

"She looks very angry." The black haired remarked, much to his brother's confusion.

"What do you mean-?" He cut himself off, registering her presence and slowly he turned around, sheepish grin in place. Edward's amusement grew as his brother seemed to somehow become paler than he already was and his thoughts turned frantic at the sight of his wife standing at the other end of the hallway, arms crossed and sending him a withering glare.

 _I'm going to die today,_ Emmett thought and Edward couldn't help but snort.

"You best go see what she wants Emmett. Edgar's right, she does look _'angry'."_ Rosalie's glare transferred from the terrified curly haired vampire to himself, but he was unfazed, instead staring her down evenly.

The insults she sent him were proof of her long life, and would make a sailor cringe, but Edward was used to them –being subjected to her ire at least twice a day.

She huffed and turned sharply on her heel, stomping away and leaving miniscule cracks on the ground, blond hair flowing behind her. Emmett didn't even bother saying goodbye, rushing after her as fast as her could without actually bypassing human speed.

The two of them watched him in silence until he disappeared completely, before Edward turned back to Edgar. She looked back at him, wondering idly why his hair constantly looked like it was on fire, much to his amusement.

"Let me walk you to class." He offered, lest she go alone and another incident like the last happened. She continued watching him for a moment, contemplating his offer, before choosing to decline, much to his surprise.

"No." And with that, she tried to step around him and continue on her way. Edward for his part was extremely baffled. He immediately fell into step next to her, intent on asking why she had refused. _No human_ had ever refused him.

"It's better if I do. What if someone 'stumbles' into you again?" She didn't register his sarcasm, instead an image of her sitting in a nice kitchen at a round table with an unfamiliar man that looked like an older, male version of Edgar flashed through her mind.

" _A strange male followed me into the forest behind school in order to warn me of the dangers of woodland creatures during the late autumn season."_ She said to her father in her memory. To Edward's eyes, it was quite clear that he panicked for his daughter.

"… _Just avoid him from now on."_ He ordered sternly. Edgar shrugged and nodded in acceptance.

" _I didn't much like him anyway"_ She answered easily, before the memory dissipated, leaving Edward reeling.

"My father told me to stay away from you." She told him honestly. Edward was still lost in the memory. Yes, fine, he understood where Edgar's father was coming from. If he had heard that someone had followed his daughter into the forest he would have reacted the same way –even Edward acknowledged the fact that what he had done was stalkerish and disturbing, so no, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry with the man. In fact, he should be happy that Edgar's father had told her to stay away from him, since that meant they couldn't associate anymore, and he should leave it at that.

But he wasn't happy –instead he felt utterly miserable at the prospect of having to stay away from her, which really didn't make sense to him at all, because it was the rational thing to do, and anyway, he was simply curious about her, and when his interest had waned, he'd move on. He saw no reason as to why he couldn't just leave her alone earlier than planned. It was better in the long run anyway.

But alas, instead of accepting the fact that it was time to leave her alone, his brain was thinking of a way to find a loophole in her father's words. And he was also ignoring the fact that she apparently didn't like him –which was surprising, but not a major problem. He would just show her that no, he really wasn't the creepy stalker she thought he was, and sometimes first impressions (second, since they had already met before the whole forest ordeal?) weren't always the _best_ impressions.

He didn't even understand why he was so intent on proving that to her. Though a part of him would at least like to be thought of as at _least_ civil, and not a stranger who followed people into the woods. Yes, that was all. He was just clearing his name.

"Alright," He agreed, realising belatedly that he had been silent for a long moment and she was wondering why he hadn't voiced his acceptance and left her alone. Sadly, he wasn't about to. "But technically, I approached you, therefore you are not in fact, disobeying your father's orders since you didn't actively seek me out." He told her with a crooked grin, hoping that his charms would work on her. She wasn't even fazed. The warning bell rang shrilly throughout the school, causing students to become frantic and she stopped in front of a classroom door. Government, he saw.

She paused before pushing the door open, giving him a shrewd look, trying to find fault in his admittedly strange logic. Her brain worked around his reasoning and her father's order, but realising that he was indeed correct (much to his satisfaction), she frowned. "Well, if you actively seek me out further, then I shall do my best to avoid you." She told him, her mind already decided.

He gave a nonchalant smirk, amused that she thought she could. "You can try." He answered, because it _was_ only fair to allow her too. If she managed to avoid him then alright, it meant that they wouldn't have to associate with each other (secretly he was hoping that she would be able to because he _really_ needed to leave the poor girl alone) at all and they could each carry on with their lives like normal.

Edgar gave him a long stare, wary of his blatant confidence, before looking away and entering the classroom.

* * *

To be honest, Emmett could agree with Alice and Edward that _maybe_ Rosalie was overreacting _just a little._ Yes, he understood the dangers of exposing themselves to the humans, but making friends with one didn't automatically mean spilling all of your secrets. And anyway, even if somehow, the girl ended up finding out their secret, who the hell was going to believe her? They'd probably think she'd finally completely jumped off the deep-end and was imagining things.

So really, they had nothing to worry about.

Obviously though, he wouldn't be telling Rosalie that. Not if he wanted to be completely shut out for the next couple of decades, but the fact remained that she was getting worked up over nothing. She had completely blown up on him just for telling her a joke, and God knew what she had planned for Edward now that it was clear that his younger brother was ignoring Rosalie's protests and doing what he wanted.

It's not like Emmet couldn't understand their interest however, because the girl _was_ interesting, if slightly weird. Not to mention that she smelled nice, but not in the food type of way, but in the perfume-y kind. Even Jasper had commented on it, saying that she didn't really smell like anything except her natural scent. So it was kind of refreshing to be able to talk to a human without having to restrain yourself and fight the constant urge to drain them dry.

Their parents were pretty relaxed about the whole thing too, much to Rosalie's ire. No matter how many times she tried to convince Carlisle to use his influence and order Edward and Alice to avoid the girl, he just would budge. All he would do was nod sagely, and say in this really calm and rational voice that so far, the two of them weren't doing anything to endanger the family, and so he saw no reason to deprive them of the first interesting thing they had come across in decades.

And that was another thing. His brother, the one who always seemed as if someone had just killed his puppy, all doom and gloom most days was finally showing some expression. Granted, he had been getting better over the years (at least now he had moved on from cursing his own existence and preaching about damned souls to cursing the fact that he was forced to live for all eternity yet there was nothing to do), but the past couple of weeks he had been oddly more alive. It was odd to talk about a vampire like that, Emmett knew, but it was the only way he could describe it.

It wasn't anything extreme, like Edward laughing often or even smiling frequently (it would take a little more time before any of that happened), it was in the small things. For example, Edward, as much as he complained about being a Vampire, had never much liked humans as a whole. It happened after you lived for such a long time, eventually one was able to see things clearly and unbiasedly, and apparently, Edward didn't like what he found.

Now all of a sudden he was suddenly _studying_ them. Hell, Emmett had walked into Edward's bedroom the previous week to see if he was interested in a spar, and much to his surprise, he found Edward reading a book on Human Psychology.

Needless to say, Emmett had been taken aback quite a bit.

Anyway, his point was, Edward was interested in this girl, and whenever Edward's attention was captured, he tended to get _really_ involved in whatever it was.

He just hoped for his brother's sake, that he ended up becoming bored with the girl before Friday, otherwise with the way Rosalie was going, she just might rip off his head before the end of the week.


	11. Chapter X

**A kind reviewer pointed out that it seems as if Edgar has Autism. This is in fact wrong, however, I accidentally gave her Aspergers. Literally her whole personality points to someone with Aspergers. My bad. Maybe I'll see if I can make something with that, or just go back and fix previous chapters accordingly.**

 **I'm so so so sorry for taking so long with this update, it honestly wasn't my fault. My internet connection had been shut off these past couple of days for repairs to my house. I'm really sorry. Hopefully we'll be able to get back on track soon.**

 **This chapter was typed in a rush and just barley made the 2k word count, but I really wanted to put it up for you guys. The next one will be better, I've already started on it, and it's looking to be 3k words, so yay for that.**

 **Hope you like it (I don't)**

 **Review?**

 **:)**

* * *

 **Chapter X - Orange**

* * *

Edgar Beauregard prided herself on being invisible. It was one of her talents, few as they may have been. She supposed it was something born from experience really, but either way, she was very good at it, that she knew. She could easily disappear into a crowd, or blend into a corner, or just plain make someone forget about her, even if they were in a small room. It was something that frustrated her father to no end, since he claimed that she always 'slipped out of his fingers', no matter how tight he had her under his radar. She tended to use it to her full advantage whenever she could, be it when she wanted to get into a restricted section of an Art Gallery, or the storeroom of an Art store where all the good materials were stored, she used it.

So really, it was no surprise to her that she was able to successfully avoid Adonis for the whole of the previous week, despite his previous confidence, and if she could successfully continue to do so until Wednesday –which was when school closed for the ten day Halloween break- she would be free. She was excited. All the orange around the school was starting to irritate her eyes.

It was a little daunting though, constantly being on edge, and there _had_ been a few close calls (so close in fact, that at one point he simply could have just reached out and touched her), but really, she'd call herself relatively successful. She wasn't even avoiding him just on her father's orders any longer, she just genuinely didn't like him. If asked why, she wouldn't be able to form a concrete reason, perhaps it was the fact that he was far too good looking to have any place on Earth instead of in heaven, or perhaps it was the arrogance he radiated, or maybe it was his obvious disdain for human beings (just because she had been avoiding him, doesn't mean she hadn't been _paying attention),_ but all she knew was that she didn't like the guy. She didn't like _Aphrodite_ either, for the same reasons. At this point, she was half convinced that they really _were_ mythological deities come to earth to toy with the naïve humans.

She could appreciate their beauty however, so much that every time she looked at them she felt her breath rush away and her fingers twitch uncontrollably with the raw _need_ to just be able to capture them as best as she could.

But alas, she could not, and so most days she simple had to walk away, as much as it seemed to physically hurt her to not be able to draw such stunning beings.

It was Sunday now, and she was able to relax in the comfort of her own home, no need to constantly be on alert. She was sitting in the backyard, on one of the rare dry days of Forks (though no less dreary), adding the finishing touches on Mrs Brighton's Portrait. Sadly, she wasn't able to push it off until Friday like she wanted since the woman had called the previous day, impatient for it to be done in time for whatever it was she would be doing. Edgar had a feeling it was showing off to her Bridge Club friends.

Personally, Edgar never like to rush through paintings. Yes, she was always able to give the exact amount of time it would take to get one done to perfection, (Mrs Brighton's would have taken two weeks, three days and one hour) but she had learned early on from her business savvy father to never keep a client waiting, and so she had been left no choice. She would head to Seattle and drop it off the next day, despite it being a Monday. Her father would understand.

She would however have to apologise to Mrs Smith before she left, since it meant bypassing their usual weekly appointment. She was sure the woman would understand however –Mrs Smith was kind like that-

"Hello." A voice greeted from behind her, making her jump and almost create a long streak of lilac on the canvas, therefore ruining the painting. Luckily, she regained control just in time, and managed to drop the brush before it could do any damage.

She sighed softly in relief, before turning halfway on her stool to face the owner of the voice.

Imagine her shock when it turned out to be Adonis in the flesh.

Edgar blinked once, processing the image of him standing one the last stair of the veranda, hands in his pockets and giving her a casual smirk, looking as if he _belonged_ there. She felt annoyance growing, because no, he did _not_ in fact belong there. He shouldn't have even been in her house in the first place. How he had he even _found_ her house in the first place?

"What are you doing here?" She asked him, straight to the point. She thought she saw his smirk falter but wasn't too sure. Instead, she saw him shrug.

"I came with my mother. She's inside, talking to your father." He answered, gesturing to the house. She looked, and indeed saw her father and an unfamiliar caramel haired woman talking in the living room. She couldn't see the woman's face, but she heard her tinkling laughter. Edgar thought that if she was anything like her children, she must have been stunning.

Slowly looking back to Adonis, she found him staring at the portrait in interest. "Who are you painting?" He asked, descending the last step and gracefully making his way closer. He paused next to her, before picking up the lilac stand paintbrush still sitting on the grass and placing it in the paint stained plastic bottle half she used to hold the turpentine.

"Angelina Brighton. She's a client." Edgar answered impassively.

"You paint professionally then?" He asked, seemingly surprised. Edgar nodded once.

"Yes."

He regarded her carefully for a moment, before letting a noncommitant hum. "I see." He acknowledged. He smirked once more, though this time it was in clear amusement. "Your attempts at avoiding me have been successful. I commend you." Adonis declared. She blinked once, before shrugging and choosing to resume her previous work, cleaning the now dirty brush in the clear liquid.

"You were confident that I would fail." She remarked, remembering his words and countanence. She chose a different brush, seeing as her old one was too dirty with grass to be of any more use to her. She would clean it properly later.

"A mistake on my part, I admit. I underestimated you." He said and she found herself feeling oddly smug. She was fairly used to being underestimated. It was a normal occurrence even.

"Plenty people do."

"I'm not surprised." He replied, sounding what Edgar assumed to be humorous before he turned, back to the house where the voices of the adults rang clear. They sounded as if they were finishing up whatever it was they had been discussing. Adonis gave her a confident.

"I have to leave now, it's about time for my mother to be finished." The wind chose that moment to breeze past, tousling his already messy fiery hair and causing strands to fall in his face. She watched as he ran through his thick locks, and wondered why it always seemed as if his hair was alight. Once again, she felt her fingers twitch with the need to capture the image.

"I just came to let you know that starting from Monday, my efforts will be doubled." He informed her with a crooked grin. She stared at him for a long time, before looking away. Why was he trying so hard? What were his motives? Normal people hardly ever put so much effort after numerous failed attempts. He didn't fit in her neat, clean, compartments on normal social behaviour and it annoyed her to no end.

She huffed, scowling. "I don't understand what you want with me." She told him, frustration clear in her voice and he shrugged, looking utterly uncaring, his grin growing more lopsided.

"Neither do I."

* * *

At this point in time, Edward was willing to admit that his interest in Edgar Beauregard was a little more than 'passing'. After one week of getting lost in her thoughts, he doubted that he would be getting bored and moving on anytime soon. Especially not when she had successfully managed to evade him for such a long time as well. He didn't know how she did it –she just seemed to constantly slip through his fingers like worse than sand. Whenever he thought he had cornered her, she managed to easily blend into the crowd, or enter a classroom or just plain disappear from sight. It was a pitiful thing, especially since he could read her mind and _should_ be able to at least _hear_ what she was planning on doing, if not predict it. It was frustrating, not to mention a little embarrassing.

Embarrassing because Emmett seemed to never tire of poking fun at his clear inadequacy. Even Jasper and Alice found themselves amused at his inability to catch up to the girl. Rosalie had resorted to ignoring his existence –that is, when she wasn't cursing him to the depths of hell and back. Carlisle, like his other children, found it amusing, and Esme found it 'cute'. She was convinced that he fancied Edgar.

Which was entirely absurd because she was _human,_ no more explanation needed. No matter how unique she proved to be, the fact remained that she was a mortal, and therefore shouldn't even be considered as anything more than a hobby to be used to pass the time. Thinking anything more was just asking for unnecessary complications.

He had warned Alice off from talking to her again, because he was already risking things as it was, two Vampires was just asking to have their secret revealed. She had pouted and put up a fuss, but he hadn't been swayed, and eventually she relented on the basis of a secret vision she was refusing to share with anyone else. It made him wary, but no amount of prodding and searching would get her to reveal it's contents.

It had been a pleasant surprise when Esme had declared that she needed to drop something off for Charles Beauregard. Apparently they were working together for a client, and his mother needed to hand over some documents.

He hadn't paid much attention to their house, intent as he was as speaking to the girl, but he _had_ noted that it was every bit as different as could be expected with her living in it. Immediately he had made a beeline for their backyard after casually inquiring with her father of her whereabouts, and after an intense look, he had gestured to their open sliding door. The man was so much like his daughter that they could be twins.

His interaction with Edgar had been brief, but he found that he enjoyed her company (not to mention the amusement he gained every time she referred to him by the name of a mythological being than his actual name), though it was pretty clear to him that it wasn't the same on her side.

She didn't like him at all –which was fine with him. In fact, he _liked_ that she didn't, because it gave him something to work towards. He would just have to _make_ her like him, it was simple really. The challenge was too good to pass up, especially since he had never received it before. He had never met any human who didn't immediately fawn over him, and though he appreciated her clear apathy on his existence, he couldn't help but want to change her view of him. He knew he probably wouldn't bother had it been someone else, but something about Edgar _made_ him want to prove himself. Prove that he really wasn't as horrible as she thought he was. He didn't understand why, or what it was that made him want to, just that he was determined to do so.

Maybe after he'd finally achieved his goal in gaining her approval, he'd finally leave the girl alone.


	12. Chapter XI

**I need a bloody Beta Reader. God knows I hate Proofreading my own work. The most I do is use Word to Spell check. This is probably full of mistakes.**

 **The reason this chapter took so long is a combination of laziness on my part, and me not wanting to update until I posted for my other fic. However, since I realised that wasn't going to happen any time soon, and it would have been unfair to you guys to make you wait any longer, I said Fuck It, and finished the chapter.**

 **As an apology, this is 4k words. Yay.**

 **It's an unremarkable chapter really -one that can easily be skim read or skipped completely without consequence. I'm sure a lot of people are annoyed it's such a slow fic, but even though it's labelled Romance, it's heavily focused on Edgar's general life and also how she interacts with other people and they with her. The romance bit isn't really a priority. So if any of you get bored or something, you are welcome to jump ship. Fair warning.**

 **On the bright side, we see Edward next chapter.**

 **Four different POV changes here; Daniel - Edgar- Daniel- Cecilia**

 **And this every two day update schedule? I'm pretty sure it's gone to hell.**

 **Hope you like it :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter XI - Orange**

* * *

Daniel didn't particularly mind Edgar Beauregard all that much. Sure she was a little weird and had a tendency to stare, but after a while, one got used to it. He'd been forced to anyway, since she had now become a regular visitor within his home, since she was painting his mother's portrait and all. Though Edgar herself didn't seem to understand why his mother insisted she paint the portrait there twice a week, and _always_ leave her things at their house, because the dreamy girl claimed that if she took it home she could probably just have it done within one day. His mother wasn't having any of it though, and claimed that she enjoyed the process.

Daniel suspected she was up to something, but hadn't bothered inquiring after more.

He spoke to the girl occasionally, in passing. Mostly when he'd finished his homework (that his mother always insisted he do in the kitchen so she could make sure it was to her satisfaction, which he didn't get because he'd been an A-Plus student all his life and he'd think that his mother trusted him by now) and was passing by the living room to get to his own bedroom upstairs. Though sometimes his mother would send her to the kitchen while he was still busy to fetch something, like a jug of Ice-Tea from the fridge, or for the tray of Muffins she had prepared for the girl.

Just for his own amusement, he'd make a random statement, just to hear her response. She was always straightforward and blunt, and apparently had no real sense of humour either. He found it increasingly funny how he could say something weird like "Oranges are Orange" and she'd simply stare at ( _through)_ him with her grey eyes for a long moment before calmly shrugging and leaving.

She wasn't very talkative either, like most other girls he knew –which admittedly wasn't a lot-, and one had a tendency to not even notice her presence. He appreciated that too, as he himself wasn't much of a conversationalist. Or a people person. His Violin instructor once went the whole session without even noticing Edgar had been in the room with them the whole time. She'd gotten quite the shock at the end when the younger girl had sneezed softly, interrupting what she'd been saying. It had been funny seeing his stiff teacher so very flustered. Edgar for her part, had simply blinked once at the old woman, before resuming her previous actions of cleaning her paint brush.

Really, he didn't mind the girl. He wouldn't call them friends though, just acquaintances who occasionally saw each other and exchanged a word or two.

So when his mother called him into the kitchen Monday afternoon after he returned from school, and requested he accompany said girl to Seattle, he had been a little surprised to say the least.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, giving his mother a dubious look. She frowned at him, planting her hands on her hips and tapping her foot expectantly.

"Will you please accompany Edgar to Seattle?" His mother repeated. Daniel regarded her carefully for a long moment, contemplating whether or not it would be worth it to refuse. It was clear his mother wasn't asking him, but if he played it right, he could make as if he thought she was.

His eyes drifted to the taller female next to her, who was staring straight at him with a blank face. He resisted the urge to flinch at her unrelenting gaze, looking back at his mother to avoid staring into her eyes. Seattle was a long way –he couldn't imagine being subjected to such a stare the whole trip. He wasn't _that_ brave.

"Please do not force him Mrs Smith. It's clear Daniel doesn't want to. I do not want to be an inconvenience." She said in her usual tone. Her voice didn't hold much emotion as usual, and she didn't seem particularly bothered either. His eyes snapped back to her in horror, then back at his mother's disapproving stare. He was in for it now –no way would he be able to refuse.

"Look what you've done Daniel!" His mother exclaimed heatedly, before gesturing at the girl next to her. "You've gone and hurt the poor girl's feelings!" She declared, though Edgar didn't look all that offended to him. In fact, she wasn't even paying attention to them anymore, her gaze was locked on something outside the window.

Daniel sighed in resignation, knowing that he'd lost the battle before it had even begun. He dropped his backpack on one of the kitchen stools and fingered the car keys he hadn't yet had the chance to put down, before shrugging. "Alright." He said, hiding his reluctance, not that he figured it did much good. "Let's go Edgar." He called, running his hand through his hair wearily before turning and heading out the kitchen, not even bothering to wait for her.

He was sitting in the grey Polo by the time she exited the house, his mother close behind, and he watched as his mother handed the girl an umbrella with a pleasant smile, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, he was sure at this point she loved the girl more than she did him.

She entered the passenger door quickly, sitting next to him, though she didn't bother to put on a seatbelt. He waited a long moment, but she didn't move.

"You should wear your seatbelt." He advised carefully but she shook her head.

"I will on the way to Seattle, however, we are required to pass by house first in order to pick up the painting." She replied reasonably. He stared at her a long moment before turning the key in the ignition.

He supposed he could understand her reasoning. What use would it be to put on the belt only to be forced to take it off only five minutes later? Although, he was all for the saying "Better Safe than Sorry", he figured it didn't really apply in this situation. He was fairly sure nothing would happen to them on the short drive towards her residence. She lived just two streets down after all.

"Alright then, I guess." He replied with a casual shrug after a long moment.

* * *

Edgar didn't particularly understand why Mrs Smith insisted on her son accompanying her to Seattle. It was obvious to see that Daniel didn't want to –his body language and facial expressions clearly showed what he himself didn't say. Of course, she had _tried_ to be a little considerate by informing the woman, however, Mrs Smith was a strict woman towards her son, and her orders were resolute. In the end though, Daniel had accepted (begrudgingly) and so Edgar let it be.

He wasn't particularly bad company, really Edgar was mostly indifferent to his presence. Of course, sometimes he would say some odd things which she didn't really see the point of, but human beings were odd themselves and she had stopped trying to understand them long ago. Mostly though, he just kept to himself and ignored her.

She could see however, that he was uncomfortable for some reason, despite the background music playing. In normal circumstances, she wouldn't have cared about it, since she rarely paid heed to anyone's feeling anyway, however, considering the fact that he had gone out of his way to help her, she suppose the least she could do was calm him down. Of course, after many lectures from her father/social therapist, she had learned that she should always _ask_ before she did anything on her own (she still didn't really understand _why_ though). In this circumstance, she figured that it would be best to ask what was bothering him, so she could try and solve the problem efficiently. Or at least as was in her capabilities.

And so she did; "You seem uncomfortable Daniel." She stated, watching the scenery pass on the highway. It wasn't very interesting, and nothing peeked her interest, but apparently, when trying to help someone, one shouldn't be too aggressive.

Apparently, staring head on at the person was considered 'aggressive'.

Daniel coughed. "I'm fine." He lied. It was obvious, especially by how his body language became even more defensive than before. A tighter grip on the steering wheel, tense shoulders, stiff jaw, and a slight frown.

She hummed slightly. "Will you not tell me what is bothering you?" She asked. He sighed audibly.

"How can you be so entirely oblivious?" He asked wearily, making her turn to look at him in confusion.

"Oblivious?" She echoed, "Of what?" She asked him, completely unaware of what he was going on about. He looked at her for a moment from the corner of his eyes, before looking back at the road with a snort of amusement.

"So you don't feel awkward at all?" He asked again. Edgar paused, taking a moment to look for the mentioned 'awkwardness' he referred to. Not that her search yielded any results –everything was perfectly normal as far as she could tell. She frowned slightly. One definition of the word "awkward" could be discomforted, but yet again, she could find no reason as to why she would feel that way.

Eventually she shrugged helplessly. "No." She answered honestly. Daniel let out a startled laugh.

"Of course you wouldn't." He said in a knowing tone, shaking his head to himself.

Edgar stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant, though no answer was forthcoming. She blinked before looking back out the window.

Daniel was strange.

The rest of the drive to Seattle was spent in silence once more, but at least he seemed a lot less uneasy than before, so she considered it a victory on her part, albeit a confusing one.

* * *

"Oh, it's absolutely splendid!" Exclaimed Mrs Brighton, clapping her hands together excitedly as she flittered around the large portrait standing on her beige coloured couch. "It looks so life-like! Even more so than any photograph that I've ever seen and _yet,_ it also somehow manages to convey a much more _elegant_ and timeless look than something captured by a camera!" She gushed in awe, eyes bright.

Daniel didn't blame her, he too was gawking at the painting in disbelief himself. Of course, he had known that Edgar was talented (how could he not when she was working on his mother's own portrait?) but seeing a finished product, instead of a half-done piece, was something else _entirely._

It looked like the subject on the canvas was about to get up and start moving –and honestly, he was more surprised that it didn't.

His eyes slid to the black haired girl standing a few feet away, holding in her hands the white material that had previously covered her work, and looking positively _bored._ His brows rose in surprise. She didn't seem at all moved by the elderly woman's amazement, in fact, she wasn't even paying attention. Instead she had her gaze fixed on an ornate blue oriental themed (and expensive looking) vase on the other side of the room.

He was pretty sure he had just seen her fingers twitch too.

Daniel thought about how often someone had to receive such tremendous praise to become so utterly blasé towards it, so completely _indifferent_ that they couldn't even be bothered to muster up a smug smile or triumphant glint in their eyes, and wondered if he would ever reach that point in his own artistic career.

He hoped not.

Of course, concerning Edgar Beauregard, one could never _really_ be sure, considering the fact that the girl never particularly seemed to react to anything. He supposed he shouldn't jump to conclusions or make any unfounded assumptions. For all he knew, she could be filled with utter jubilation on this inside, and since she had the facial expression range of a robot, was unable to show it.

Though somehow, he still doubted that possibility.

"Oh, the ladies in the Bridge Club will be so envious!" Mrs Brighton declared smugly, before turning her attention back to Edgar, who had, at some point when they weren't paying attention, drifted closer to the vase and was now intently working on it in her sketchpad. "And I must say, it is worth _much_ more than the price we agreed on, darling." The woman said, walking closer to the girl and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Edgar blinked at her slowly, before shaking her head.

"I would have preferred doing it for no charge." She replied, sounding slightly put-out as she shifted her current work under her left arm. Daniel looked at her like she was crazy. Who in their right mind would want to do something so clearly valuable for _free?_

Mrs Brighton shook her head and tutted in displeasure. "No, I insist." She stated in a resolute voice. "If I had known how stunning it would have turned out, no way would I have offered a meagre amount _._ Oh! You must have felt so insulted!" She cried with clear regret in her voice. His brows furrowed.

Meagre? Idly, he wondered how much the woman had originally offered. Three hundred dollars? Maybe four?

"Fourty is nowhere _near_ enough for such a masterpiece!" Mrs Brighton proclaimed in distress, making her way towards the coffee table and picking up a checkbook. Daniel blinked in surprise, having not anticipated such a _low_ price, although, it _was_ slightly understandable. He wouldn't have expected much from a slightly wonky looking teenage girl either. Using a checkbook for such a small amount was weird though, but he never understood rich people anyway. Maybe the woman just didn't carry paper money on hand.

The woman extracted a fancy looking fountain pen from the front pocket of her white, embroidered blazer, before quickly scribbling down the corrected amount onto an open page and ripping it off with the ease of someone used to it. "I think seventy should suffice. I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I don't expect you to take anything more." She said knowingly, handing the rectangular slip over to Edgar.

He managed to catch a glimpse of it during the brief exchange and almost had a heart-attack right then and there, because now _way_ had he anticipated it.

Seventy _thousand_ dollars was the actual amount. Of _course_. He rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to scoff out-loud. How naïve of him to assume anything less.

And the worst part was, Edgar didn't even spare it a second glance, quickly shoving the slip away in her leather satchel with no amount of care. Daniel suspected with horror, that she wouldn't even have particularly cared all that much if it somehow got lost.

"Thank you very much Mrs Brighton." She said with a nod of her head, but Mrs Brighton simply waved her hand uncaringly.

"It's my absolute pleasure. I'll be sure to express my gratitude towards Cecilia. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have known just how talented you are!" Daniel wondered who this 'Cecilia' was.

"I'm sure she'll be pleased." Edgar answered, mustering up a polite smile, though Daniel could tell it was clearly fake. "If we may take our leave?" She asked, and Mrs Brighton laughed.

"Yes, yes. I imagine you have plenty other clients waiting on you! Don't let me keep you!" She said, walking them to the door. Well, walked Edgar to the door really. She hadn't bothered to acknowledge his presence aside from a polite greeting when they first entered.

"Do pass by for some tea every once in a while! You'd be very welcome!" Mrs Brighton offered, making Daniel give the both of them a sceptical look. Tea? Really?

 _Rich people,_ he thought with amusement.

"Of course." The black haired girl responded easily. Mrs Brighton nodded with a large smile and with one last goodbye, they were on their way.

Daniel regarded the girl carefully as they stood in the elevator, seeing just how _casual_ she looked, and wondered if this was a normal occurrence. Dealing with such…exclusive clients.

"Do you normally paint work for people like Mrs Brighton?" He asked curiously. Edgar looked his way.

"People 'like' Mrs Brighton?" She asked, confusion colouring her voice. "And what exactly is Mrs Brighton 'like'?" She asked him as the metal doors slid open, revealing the large underground parking lot.

Daniel searched for the words. Really, he meant filthy rich, but he had been taught better than to be so blunt. "People in higher classes." He said diplomatically.

"Rich people you mean?" She asked easily.

He unlocked the car with a sigh. Apparently he and Edgar had a different education. "You could say that." He replied wearily, shutting the door behind him.

"Fairly often I suppose." She answered, sliding her seatbelt on. She didn't elaborate –not that he expected her to.

"Oh."

What else could he say really?

She stared at him for a moment, before shrugging and looking away. "Would you mind if we passed by my Grandmother's house? I promised I would pay her a visit when I came to the city." She requested. Now it was his turn to shrug. He didn't mind all that much anymore. It wasn't like he had anything better to do back in Forks anyway.

"Sure."

* * *

"Edgar, my Dear!" Cried Cecilia Beauregard at the sight of her favourite grandchild, immediately engulfing the girl in a large hug. She was stiff, as was to be expected (Edgar wasn't much for physical contact, never had been), but returned it briefly anyway. The elder woman smiled, before taking a step back, and giving her a quick once over, making sure she looked to be in good health. Aside from some paint in her wild hair –which was a normal thing, really- she seemed fine, and luckily hadn't had a decline in health in the two weeks she hadn't seen her.

Edgar gave a small smile, a _real_ one thankfully. "Hullo Grandmother." She greeted, "A pleasure to see you. We just came from Mrs Brighton's so as promised, I decided to at least pass by for a brief visit before we made our way back to Forks." She explained. At the mention of the word 'we', Cecilia noticed for the first time, the quiet boy standing to the side, observing his surroundings curiously.

Her eyes rose in surprise, "And who is this handsome young man you brought with you?" She asked curiously. His attention was brought back to the present, and he stepped forward with a polite smile.

"Hello Ma'am. My name is Daniel Smith." He greeted, shaking the hand she held out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Daniel!" And it was! She had never even heard of Edgar interacting with someone her own age. "Are you a friend of Edgar's?" Cecilia asked curiously.

"No." Edgar denied before the boy could answer, making her raise a brow. "He just accompanied me here at the request of his mother." Her granddaughter explained bluntly. Cecilia looked back at the dirty blond haired male, who nodded in confirmation. She smiled nonetheless.

"That was very kind of you Daniel." She told him, making him look to the ground abashedly.

"Thank you Ma'am." He mumbled shyly, much to Cecilia's amusement. She looped an arm through his with a smile.

"Come now, let us retreat to the living room." She said, already walking. The boy could do nothing but follow obediently. "Do you go to the same school as Edgar?" She asked curiously.

"Yes Ma'am. Though we don't interact much." He answered uncomfortably. He looked around in search for the topic of their subject, only to find that the girl had disappeared sometime between the foyer and the living room.

She hummed in acknowledgement, leading them to a couch. "Can I offer you anything? Tea? Water? Perhaps some cake?" She asked, but he shook his head in denial.

"No thank you Ma'am. I'm quite alright." He told her politely and she frowned in displeasure.

"Alright, but next time you visit, I'll be sure to stuff you up." That was an open invite for him to come back of course. God only knew Edgar needed a friend, and Cecilia was nothing if not determined.

Daniel seemed a little confused, and slightly hesitant, but nonetheless gave a small smile. "Yes Ma'am." He agreed.

"Good, good." She acknowledged, leaning forward to pour herself a cup of tea from the set Thomas had subtly prepared earlier on when she had still been greeting the two teens in the foyer. He really was quite an efficient worker.

She took a dainty sip, looking at the boy next to her. "And how is it that you two know each other then? She said your mother asked you to accompany her to Seattle? Are you working on paired project?" She inquired. She was curious about this young male. How could she not be?

"No Ma'am." He denied with a small frown. "Edgar is doing a portrait for my mother, so we see each other fairly frequently." He explained.

"You are a very polite young man, aren't you?" Cecilia remarked, making him blush.

"My mother is very strict." He responded, looking down at his lap self-consciously and she nodded.

"Ah," She breathed in understanding. It was a pleasant thing though, young people these days often were quite rude. "Well, I would like to meet your mother one day, to congratulate her on a job well done."

"I'll be sure to tell her, Ma'am." He said with a genuine smile.

"Excellent." Cecilia declared, placing her teacup down with her own pleased smile.

"So tell me Daniel, do you like Edgar?" She asked, interested to know his opinion of her granddaughter. She worried about her granddaughter. The girl was admittedly different, and most people of course were quite unnerved by her. It was only natural Cecilia look out for her.

The boy coughed awkwardly, searching around the room as if something within would give him the correct answer. "She's very…nice." He answered eventually, though his voice was weak and uncertain. Cecilia let out a laugh of amusement.

"'Nice' isn't the word _I_ would use to describe her, and she's my granddaughter!" She joked with a slight laugh. "I know she's a little…strange, you could say. But she really isn't that bad. Just give her a chance, please." She insisted.

"She's alright really." Daniel hurried to say, sounding sincere. "I find her interesting. And she's very talented. She just takes some…getting used to." He said, with a thoughtful frown.

"True true." She agreed with a nod. "And you? Do you have any particular talents?" She asked him.

He looked away. "I play the violin." He answered and instantly, Cecilia found herself interested.

" _Really?"_ She asked in surprise. "Well, I was quite the violinist myself, back in my day! Are you any good?"

He blushed again and shrugged. "I'm average." He murmured, softly.

"That's not true, Grandmother." Edgar declared, entering the room, drawing her attention. "He's been playing since he was four, and he's very talented. Daniel just doesn't like attention is all." Cecilia raised a brow at the girl. Edgar blinked slowly at the male, staring at him for a long moment and ignoring how clearly uncomfortable he looked.

"He doesn't like talking to people he doesn't know all that well either. He's shy." She added. Cecilia gave her are look of amusement.

"You seem to know him very well?" She remarked and Edgar shrugged uncaringly.

"We've only known each other for two weeks, though it's fairly easy to see." The black haired girl answered.

Cecilia looked back at Daniel, who wasn't looking at any of them, and was still bright red. "I see…" She acknowledged with a nod. "You've always had good observational skills."

Edgar shrugged again. "We have to leave now. It's getting late." She said and Cecilia stood quickly.

"Oh yes of course. I've kept you far too long." She agreed, looking at the time. "Although, be sure to bring Daniel by again. You _must_ play for me one day. I myself don't play all that often. These old fingers are quite temperamental." She joked. Daniel stood with a small smile.

"Yes Ma'am." He answered, though she could see that he was still nervous.

"Wonderful." She answered, before looking to her Granddaughter. "And Edgar dear, greet your father for me. It's a wonder he doesn't visit me more often, considering the fact that he works here in the city!" Cecilia complained lightly.

Edgar nodded and gave her one of her rarely seen, small smiles.

"Yes Grandmother."


	13. Chapter XII

**And here it is! After like, a week or so? Or was it two? Hmm...**

 **Thanks to my new Beta _Selene Rose Grey_ for going over this - _only_ for FFN to fuck up the document and erase all your hard and amazing work. Ahh, _C'est la vie XD_**

 **Also, let me just say that no, Edgar has no special powers or whatever. She's just a weirdo. A cool one, but a weirdo nonetheless. Just thought I'd put it out there before you guys started on the chapter.**

 **Hope you enjoy it :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter XII - Black**

* * *

"You were not at school yesterday." A familiar voice remarked, jutting a leg out, forcing her to stop in the middle of making her way to her own biology desk at the back of the classroom. Clutching her books close to her person, she levelled the offender with a blank stare.

"I was not." She acknowledged. "May I ask why you have decided to block my path?" Edgar asked, looking meaningfully at the boot clad foot. She vaguely remarked that they looked quite expensive –rummaging through her father's closet for sweaters (much to his exasperation) had taught her to recognise men's labels.

Edward gave her a crooked grin -one that oddly sent the blond girl two seats over into strange breathing patterns, for some reason that Edgar couldn't comprehend- and gestured to the empty seat next to him. "Sit with me today. I need a partner." He said, looking _far_ too amused. The black haired girl's eyes slid to the empty stool by the window, noticing that it _was_ in fact empty, however, as she had no intentions on filling it, raised her leg to step over the impromptu barricade.

"I shall have to decline that offer." She murmured, already moving on.

"Mr Banner said everyone should find someone to work with –it's on the board. Last I checked, we both sit alone. It would only be convenient for us to work together." Edward stated, making her pause mid-step.

She sighed inwardly, turning to look at the large whiteboard, which stated in large and bold blue letters ' _PARTNER UP!'_

"I suppose we're lucky today isn't a full period. I'm sure you'll survive my daunting presence for just thirty minutes." He drawled wryly, golden eyes glinting. Edgar simply blinked once at him, before resigning herself to her fate, and shuffling into the empty place next to him. It wasn't as if she had much of a choice if the teacher had instructed it. She wondered where he was in the first place, since he most of the class had already had arrived and he was still absent. Edgar thought it particularly vexing that the person who was supposed to _teach_ the class was the one who was absent.

Well, to be honest, she could recognise the fact that her current irritation was not Mr Banner's fault, but the fault of her Weekly Art Subscription magazine for covering an interview with Lauriana Burkely and her take on Surrealism, also touching upon her Gallery that would be taking place on Friday in Seattle. The show she wouldn't be able to _go to_ because her father had refused on the basis of " _No Art Shows until you manage to raise your grades up to my satisfaction, and by that, I mean please at_ least _try and get a_ B _."_

And the worst part was that she very well could if she tried, most of the work the teachers gave out was fairly simple, nothing that couldn't be worked through without a little thought on her part. But really, the question was _why_ did she need to bother anyway? And despite how noticeably nicer Mrs Nott had been the past week, it's not as if knowing the exact date Bloody Mary died was going to help her in any way. Although, knowing what she looked like could possibly be helpful one day –perhaps she'd have the urge to paint Queens of the Middle Ages someday, but that day was decidedly _not_ today.

"Where were you yesterday?" Edward asked, sounding a mix of curious and frustrated. Edgar shrugged.

"I don't see how that's any of your concern." She told him, eyes drifting to the clock at the front of the room. Mr Banner was almost ten minutes late.

"Indulge me." He said and this time she really did _sigh_.

"Seattle." She answered after a moment.

"Oh?" He asked, "What for?" He asked again. The image of Mrs Brighton's penthouse flitted through her mind, and she found herself almost ready to take her up on the offer of tea, just to be able to take the chance to be able to _really_ paint that ancient blue Vase that had caught her attention. She lamented the fact that she'd only been able to get a quick sketch done of it. Some things were best seen in colour.

"A delivery." Was all she said. Edward hummed thoughtfully, tapping his long fingers on the desk surface. Edgar found her gaze drawn to his elegant hands, and wondered idly if she'd ever seen such a perfect pair in her life. Pale, smooth and long fingered with impeccably shaped nails. Her own fingers twitched, and she knew that if it were any other person, she'd be halfway through drawing them by now.

However, it wasn't, and as much as she loved beautiful things, once again, she thought the male next to her had absolutely no right to exist outside of fairy tales and mythology.

At this point in time, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to throw Edward down the highest cliff while grinning in triumph, or kidnapping him and holding him hostage until she finished capturing every single detail, on paper, canvas _and_ maybe stone. She wasn't much of a sculptor, but the opportunity would be too good to pass by.

Granted, she acknowledged that right then, she was leaning more to the option of throwing him off a cliff.

The subject of her thoughts seemed entertained. "You were delivering Angelina Brighton's portrait then?" He guess accurately. Edgar shrugged and chose not to answer.

Edward let out a slight huff of amusement but didn't say anything else since their long-lost teacher chose that entrance to make his grand entrance, holding a stack of dossiers in his arms. "Sorry I'm late class! The printer was misbehaving." He announced loudly, dropping the stack on his desk (which Edgar personally thought would do well with a little more colour –as would the rest of the class) with a clear sound of relief. He then clapped his hands and faced the class with a bright grin.

"We don't have much time today, so I'm going to hit straight to the chase!" He said, moving to the board and picking up the eraser, removing the previous words which had covered it. "Your homework for this ten day break will be to complete the assigned project with the person sitting next to you!" He declared, before underling the words ' _Worth Sixty Percent of Your Grade!'_ and placing the green marker down.

His announcement was met with mostly sounds of despair from the students, not that Edgar could blame them either. She could empathise for once.

"Each couple will be assigned one subject we've covered from the beginning of the school year –which honestly was only a few months ago, so not that big a deal- and _maybe_ a chosen few will be asked to present it to the class, so you guys better be prepared because I'll be choosing at random!" Mr Banner warned, making even more people groan. "I want it thorough, and comprehensive, with pictures and the like. It better be good, because like it says on the board it will be worth a lot of your grade for this term!"

She glanced at Edward from the corner of her eye, but he didn't look too happy about the newfound developments either, his dark brows creased together lightly as he contemplated something. She frowned, her displeasure showing through. Working with him was not the problem, contrary to what one might believe, because though she didn't hold the best esteem of him (his arrogance and pure existence bothered her), aside from that, she had no _real_ personal problem with him. The fact of the matter was she had _work_ to do this holiday; she already had six paintings requested from clients both from within the country and around the world with probably more to come, three people asking her to come and do the interior of their houses (let it never be said that her family did not have connections and amazing business sense) _and_ she also had other personal projects she was working on. She didn't think she'd have the time to add a school project onto all of that, no matter how accurately she'd plan her days.

Plus, she doubted she even have any motivation to do any school work off campus –just getting her to do homework was always something that left her father with a headache at the end.

"It won't be anything _too_ tedious," Mr Banner said trying to reassure them as if he'd read her mind, not that it did much, "I just thought it a good way to see if you've all been paying attention in class." The middle-aged man placed the stack on one of the front row desks, where two blond males sat.

"Take one and pass it along. They're all different, but you're not allowed to open them until I say so, and they're closed shut so you'll have no chances of 'accidentally' glimpsing inside either." The sarcasm was palpable in his voice as he moved behind his desk and sat down, picking up a pen.

The files were passed along fairly quickly, and soon the two of them had their own sitting innocently in between them, almost mocking Edgar with its calm black colour.

Edward blinked, before giving her a half-hearted smile. "Well partner, it seems you'll have to endure for slightly more time than originally planned." He quipped jokingly.

* * *

In his defence, Edward hadn't known that there'd be a project when he'd invited Edgar to sit next to him. He thought that perhaps they'd only be working together during class and be done with it, although in a way, he also considered it a stroke of luck. Being paired with some other person would have been a complete nightmare. At least he _knew_ she was very intelligent –he however, couldn't say them same for some of the other humans in the class.

A paired project was also a little dangerous, there were of course risks with spending an extended amount of time in the company of a human, and his family wouldn't be happy, but he was sure that if he were careful and they _never_ worked at his own house, he'd be fine. Plus it would give him more opportunities to get to know the enigma that was Edgar Beauregard.

The small smile that made its way onto his face made him feel only a little bit guilty. He know he shouldn't be feeling anticipation, but he couldn't particularly help it even if he tried. He'd always appreciated a good mystery, something to occupy his time and keep him interested –obviously a rare thing when one lived for as long as he had.

Though, he could acknowledge the project was an inconvenience to her. He'd been surprised to learn how busy she'd be during the break, because of course he knew she was talented, he just wasn't aware that so many others did too, and clearly sought out her talent for their own. Someone all the way in _New Zealand_ had even placed an order.

She was very successful for her age, he knew of plenty cases where not even fully grown adults made as much as she did on a _yearly_ basis, never mind weekly as she seemed to do. It was interesting to him though, because she didn't seem like the type to do it for money, going so far as to _pay_ her _subjects_ into letting her use them. He concluded that turning her art into a business was her father's idea. He knew of Charles Beauregard of course, considering the fact that he worked with his mother quite often. Ironically, those instances always concerned his daughter being requested to paint the house Esme had just finished designing on the demand of the owners.

Edgar wasn't famous in the art world per _se,_ but those who _did_ know about her talent tended to call on her quite frequently. "No one could paint a wall mural quite like she did" was the opinion of many. At the rate she was going, Edward had no doubt she'd become very well-known _very_ quickly.

Funnily enough though, neither he nor his mother had known it was Edgar who usually painted the interior of the houses Esme designed up until two and half weeks ago –when their family had first learned of her existence to be precise.

"It would be more convenient if we worked at my house, as you already know its location. It will save us unnecessary trouble." The subject of his voice uttered, voice characteristically calm and dreamy. His back stiffened and he sucked in a sharp breath from tightly clenched teeth, barely stopping himself from crushing the fragile metal of his locker door, though it still dented. His brows rose in surprise when he noticed her _standing right next to him_ , leaning against the lockers beside his own. She looked so utterly _nonchalant,_ body relaxed and large eyes staring straight ahead into the hallway filled with busy students, looking but not really _seeing._

He was almost too shocked to form a response, because this girl, this _human_ girl had managed to sneak up on him! Something no one had managed to do for _decades._ He had forgotten the feeling, having grown complacent. His every muscle was tense, each of his senses were tingling and it left him reeling and fumbling to calm down the venomous adrenaline rushing through his veins, lest his instinct override his mind and he ended up attacking the girl.

He swallowed the venom pooling in his mouth -the result of his body having falsely anticipated an attack and beginning to prepare its defences- and took a deep breath before replying. "When would be best for you?" He asked, and he heard the strain in his voice. He was shaken, clearly. And the worst part is that he could still _smell_ her scent (paint, forest and rain), and he could also hear her thoughts perfectly clearly (currently running through her schedule to decide on a convenient date), plus her heartbeat was still thumping loud and clear, so he didn't understand _how_ she had done it.

Oblivious to his inner panic, Edgar let out a thoughtful hum. "We can start on Thursday morning, at around eleven." She said, turning her almost empty gaze up to the bland ceiling. "Will that be alright?" The black haired girl asked, though much to his slight amusement, he could hear her contemplating how best to sneak into the school during the break in order to paint the 'horrid' ceilings. He would have found it even funnier, if his mental state was not currently a panic-zone.

"That would be alright." He agreed and she nodded, using her weight to push off where she was leaning and looking at him.

Her clear coloured eyes appeared blank, but much to his displeasure, her mind was taking in his demeanour. Apparently, he hadn't hidden his discomfort as well as he'd thought, considering the fact that she'd easily picked it up, mentally and accurately connecting the signs to all she'd read about Body Language –in particular, nervousness.

 _She's far too observant,_ he thought with a frown.

But much to his relief, although she realised his anxiousness and acknowledged it, she didn't care enough to broach the subject. Giving him one last long look, she blinked for the first time since she'd approached him, before she turned and drifted on her way, as if the whole interaction had never even happened in the first place.

He gave a sigh of relief once she'd disappeared behind a corner, trying to regain his composure.

That whole interaction had been unsettling –to know that she was so casually able to make her way over and stand next to him for who knows _how_ long, without him realising her presence, was admittedly 'creepy', as the youth of the current age would say.

She being able to easily see straight through his false calm was also unsettling (although a part of him was entirely amused to know that she'd actually studied books on Body Language and the like. Was she really that naturally socially inept that she had to rely on text to understand normal behaviour?).

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, before pulling himself together and making his way to his next class, a frown on his face.

The more he learned about the girl, the stranger she became.

 _Although_ , he thought, his frown making way for a small grin, _she also becomes more intriguing._


	14. Chapter XIII

**And finally, we kinda introduce the Quileute tribe. Or at least 3/4 of the Clearwaters. I've always loved Leah much the same way I loved Rosalie to be honest, since they're basically the only two worthwhile females in the series. There were others of course (Victoria, The Amazonians, and Esme being examples) but I loved those two best. Getting Leah into character was hard, especially this was around the time Sam dumped her but eh, I tried. Also, according to my calculations, Seth is around 11/12 during this time, so I've altered his age accordingly.**

 **We'll be seeing more of them next chapter of course, but for now I'm satisfied with the ending of this chapter, and I hope you guys are too.**

 **Hope you all enjoy the chapter :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter XIII - Black**

* * *

"Judging by the fact that it's seven-thirty, you're still in bed, and _still_ wearing your pyjamas, I'm going to assume that you'll be opting out of your education today?" Inquired Charles with a raised eyebrow as he leaned against the threshold to his daughter's bedroom.

"It's the last day of school before the Halloween break. I see no reason for me to attend." Came the muffled reply under the large comforter. Charles distinctly remembered that at one point in time, it was dark green –now it was basically unrecognisable, covered in paint splatters, ink splotches, and assorted other marks, much like the rest of her bedroom.

Her previously grey carpet was half dyed red at this point, and don't even get him started on the walls and ceiling.

The small lump in the middle of the bed shifted, drawing his attention once more. "There could be important homework being assigned." He pointed out, though he knew that it was futile. Edgar wasn't going to go to school that day. He knew his daughter well enough to be able to tell. There was a little snuffling sound and more movement from the lump, though this time, one droopy grey eye peered out, along with plenty (and _messy)_ dark curls.

"Exactly father. And if I'm not there when it's assigned, then I'll have none to do over the break." She informed him, voice groggy but still convincing, and he had to admit, even he couldn't argue with that logic.

He sighed wearing and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if it was just his own imagination or if he really could sense his wife's amusement radiating around him. Elizabeth probably _would_ find his exasperation funny if she were around to see it; she always had, especially when dealing with their flighty daughter.

He contemplated briefly if he should be sterner with Edgar, perhaps _order_ her to attend classes whether she wanted to or not, but one look at the now sleeping girl stopped him. He was too much of a push-over when it came to his daughter, and plus, he already felt guilty for not allowing her to go to that one Art gallery taking place in Seattle. Especially with the way she looked at him the previous evening during dinner, eyes entirely accusing. He just knew she was angry at him.

He swallowed, the remorse surfacing just by the mere memory. He half-decided to just let her go, if only to get her to stop staring at him with those big silver orbs that melted his heart.

Yes indeed, Charles Beauregard was a big ole softie when it came to his daughter.

Sighing once more, he left the colourful room and closed the door softly behind him, before making his way downstairs and to the kitchen to get some breakfast before he had to resign himself to a day of paperwork. To be honest, he had no intention of going into the office that day. He had far too much work to do, and couldn't afford to be distracted by various meetings and requests to be seen and such.

Esme Cullen's file was an example of things he had to work on. Not that working with her was something new, they'd been business partners for a while, and with the amount of clientele she received, he'd frequently found himself pouring over reports and making sure everything was in check.

He poured himself a cup of coffee into a paint stained mug (because really, _nothing_ in this house had managed to escape his daughter's clutches), before sitting down at the island counter where his morning meal and various files awaited him patiently, having been set down earlier before he'd checked on Edgar upstairs.

His daughter had been surprised when the woman had come over the previous week to drop off some papers, though mostly miffed for some reason. He suspected it didn't have much to do with the woman herself, and more with her son. Charles himself had been taken aback when the boy had immediately inquired over his daughter as soon as the initial pleasantries had been over with, because as far as he knew, Edgar didn't associate with anyone other than the Smith boy, and even then it was awkward and mostly for necessity than anything.

Esme had explained with a happy smile that they knew each other from school, where they'd shared a few encounters. She hadn't seemed worried or bothered at all, and her son seemed like a polite enough boy, so he too had simply let it go and been happy with the knowledge that his daughter was finally making friends…sort of.

Romance of course, wasn't something he was worried about. Edgar has enough trouble understanding the basic principle of amusement –love or anything of the sort was _far_ out of her range.

As a father, that was something that made him entirely too happy. No chance of her leaving home that way.

As he opened the first folder and began to read over a statement, the doorbell rang, interrupting him. He sighed and put down the coffee mug in his other hand, before standing up to go and attend to whoever it was.

Opening the stained glass front door, he was greeted with the sight of a familiar dark haired woman standing on the door mat, hands clasped in front of her, clutching her handbag. "Oh, hello Sue," He said with a pleasant smile at the sight of his friend. "It's been a long time. Please, come in." Charles said, stepping aside so that she could enter. She gave him a grateful look, stepping through the threshold.

"I'm glad I managed to catch you. I was worried you'd already be gone." She said as she made her way to the kitchen familiarly. She knew the house well and the kitchen best, having frequently come over to help after Elizabeth's passing.

"Ah, I'm actually not going in today. I've got plenty paperwork." He explained, gesturing to the pile on the counter. "May I offer you something? We've got some Purple Blueberry Muffins if you're interested." He offered and she smiled in amusement, taking a seat at the round table.

"I see she still loves her food colouring." Sue declared fondly. Charles chuckled, pulling out the pan of baked goods from where it previously sat in the oven.

"She'll probably never stop." He replied, and soon, a warm cup of Earl Grey and a muffin sat in front of his friend. She gave him a grateful nod.

"How have you been? We haven't seen you around these parts recently." he commented as he refilled his own mug with coffee.

Sue let out an appreciative hum at the taste of his daughter's baking. "This is lovely." She acknowledged with a smile. "I've been good thank you, and maybe _you_ should come down and visit every once in a while. Harry's been asking about you." She told him, as he took a seat across from her on the round table.

Charles laughed. "Tell Harry I don't hang out with old men." He teased, and Sue chuckled, taking a sip of her tea.

"Oh, he won't be pleased to hear that. I'm fairly sure one of these days he's going to come up here and bodily drag you fishing." She declared, and Charles was fairly sure she wasn't even joking. Let it never be said that Harry Clearwater wasn't a determined man.

The grey eyed man cringed. "Even after the last disaster?" The memory of being dragged down the river by a freakishly large Salmon was still fresh in his mind. Sue laughed.

"Indeed." She confirmed, her voice filled with amusement.

"Perhaps I should start running then." He joked. "Now, how may I help you today?"

The black haired woman nodded, setting he cup down. "Well, lately Leah has been complaining about the colour of her bedroom, going on about how she's grown out of it, although, I personally think peach is a very elegant colour for a young woman, she doesn't agree. Seth is getting on my case now too, seeing that I said yes to his sister's request." She explained, sounding weary. Charles gave her a look of sympathy, knowing the difficulty of raising a daughter. He couldn't imagine the challenge of two children. "I was wondering if Edgar would be available soon to come over? Even Harry has grown tired of hearing the both of them go on about it." The woman said, shaking her head and taking a calming sip of her tea.

Charles let out a thoughtful hum, thinking of his daughter's heavy schedule. She would busy the whole break, however he couldn't think of anything pressing enough to begin that day. And plus, considering the fact that she's refused to attend classes today, he figured that she may as well do something productive. He'd ask of course if she had any _real_ plans, but if not, then it was to the Clearwaters' she went.

"I think she's available today actually." He said, tapping the rim of his mug idly. Sue looked relieved.

"Oh thank goodness, I don't think I can take any more of their incessant complaints." Sue breathed in relief. "We already bought the paint, but I didn't want to let them do it themselves in case they made a mistake, and goodness knows that Seth would probably make a right mess of things _on purpose_." She told him, sounding exasperated.

Charles chuckled slightly. "Boys will be boys." He said and she let out a huff.

"They just never clean up afterwards." She grumbled, reaching for her purse. "How much shall I give you then?" She inquired, but he shook his head.

"No, it's alright. It's a gift." He told her. Sue frowned in displeasure.

"No Charles," She began in a disapproving tone, "You can't very well expect me to agree to that." She stated.

"Would you have wanted me to pay you for all the times you helped around the house?" He asked, raising a dark brow, and her frown deepened.

"Well, _no,_ but-"She began and he put up a hand to stop her.

"Then please don't pay us for this. And you know Edgar doesn't like receiving money in the first place." The black haired man pointed out, making her sigh in defeat.

"Alright, you win." She relented, though it was clear she still didn't approve. "Thank you, you have no idea how much we _all_ appreciate it." She stressed the word "all", much to his amusement.

"Of course." Charles acquiesced. Sue gave one last smile, before standing, bag in hand.

"I'll have to take my leave now, I'm already late enough for my shift at the Clinic as it is." She told him, and he stood to walk her to the door.

"You didn't have to inconvenience yourself. A phone call would have sufficed." He told her, opening the front door. She chuckled.

"But it gave me a chance to see if you two were still in good health." She told him, stepping though the threshold and pulling out the keys to the blue Toyota that sat in his driveway.

"I don't think one can keel over from food colouring, so really, we're just fine." He said, and she let out a huff of amusement.

"Give Edgar dear my love, and don't be a stranger, you hear?" She ordered. Charles shrugged.

"No promises." He answer, just before closing the front door.

* * *

Leah opened the front door to reveal a relatively tall girl with extremely curly, messy black hair, filled with twigs, leaves and what seemed to be white chalk dust, clad in bright rainbow patterned gum boots, red leggings that were dirtied with soil and even more of the white chalk dust, and a pouch adorned, tool filled apron that covered the green long-sleeved shirt underneath, a leather bag draped across the girl's shoulders.

Those too were dirty.

Large, wide, colourless eyes stared in her direction, though Leah got the feeling that the girl wasn't even looking at her in the first place,

Her last real memory of Edgar Beauregard was from three years ago, just before the girl's mother had died, but really, she couldn't say much had changed about her at all.

"Hullo." Said the girl in front of her, voice soft and airy.

Leah stared at her a moment longer. "…Hi." She answered finally." You're late." She commented, annoyance showing through as she gave the girl a severe look. Mr Beauregard had called and said ten o'clock. Two hours had passed with no sign of her, until Seth had loudly declared she wasn't coming and had gone to sulk in a corner. Now, thirty minutes after that, here she stood at the door.

Edgar wasn't even looking at her any more, staring at something behind her, though all Leah didn't see anything interesting. "There was a dead log in the forest that drew my attention." She said, sounding entirely unrepentant. Leah wondered how chalk had gotten involved.

 _Right,_ she thought shaking her head, _the girl's a weirdo. Forgot._

Leah's chocolate eyes scanned the immediate area, looking for the car that had brought the black haired girl here, but she could see none, and hadn't heard any vehicle either. She frowned.

"How'd you get here?" She inquired.

"I walked." Edgar answered.

Leah shook her head. "No, I mean how'd you arrive in La Push." She clarified. Slowly, the younger girl's head turned until she was once again staring Leah dead in the eye. Shifting uncomfortably, Leah held her gaze.

"I walked." Edgar repeated in a tone that said she was probably wondering about Leah's mental capabilities, which she thought entirely unfair because if _anyone's_ mental state needed to be examined, it was Edgar's and _not_ hers.

Albeit, she could admit to herself that lately she _had_ been a little, unstable, ever since the whole thing with – _NO,_ she wasn't going to think about it. Not now when she had finally managed to get the constantly burning pain in her heart to a dull throb. She was fine. She didn't need him.

Leah blinked a few times as the girl's words registered in her mind. "You walked here? All the way from Forks?" She echoed, raising a dark brow, disbelief evident in her expression. The younger girl nodded in confirmation.

"Yes."

"It's a forty minute drive. How long could it have taken to walk?" She asked incredulously.

Edgar shrugged. "An hour, five minutes and thirty-three seconds. I suspect it takes longer under normal circumstances –I normally just cut through the forest." She explained in a tone that suggested that she really didn't grasp how big of a deal it was.

 _No wonder she's late,_ Leah thought shaking her head. And judging by the fact that she'd said "Normally", it meant that she made the trek often.

Sighing, she stepped aside in order to allow the younger girl through the threshold, feeling as if she'd just gone ten full speed turns on the Merry-Go-Round.

"Seth!" She called out loudly over the signs of television coming from the living room as she closed the door behind her.

"What do you want now? I'm in the middle of the newest episode!" He called back in a whine. Leah tsked in annoyance, rolling her eyes.

"I guess you don't want your room to be painted then!" She called, grabbing a startled Edgar's wrist and leading the way down the corridor until they reached the horrid yellow painted door (in Leah's not-so-humble opinion) that served as the entrance to her bedroom.

It was a small room, with peach painted walls, aged wooden floors, a white dresser adorned with various trinkets and framed photos with a two door brown wardrobe next to it, and a modest sized three-quarter bed with light blue dressings, on top of a fluffy but worn carpet, with a small bedside table with a lamp -all shoved under the large open window with pink lace curtains floating in the breeze

Leah absolutely hated it.

She hadn't told her parents but she was doing more than 'just a little' repainting. She was completely dead set of refurnishing her room completely. It was filled with far too many painful memories for her to be truly comfortable within, and she felt that the best way for her to move on would be to simply just start it a fresh.

She'd bought new curtains and bed things with the money she'd saved from working at the local bakeshop, along with more paint to change the colour of the furniture. They were stashed under the bed so that her mother wouldn't be able to discover any of it, lest she get angry and disapprove. Leah knew she wouldn't understand. She'd think it an overreaction and a waste of money, despite whatever Leah would do to convince her otherwise. So she'd rather just keep the whole thing a secret until the whole room was done. Plus it was the perfect opportunity to do it today, considering that her mother had an all day shift at the clinic, and her dad was over at the Black's place. By the time they'd both come home, Edgar would be long gone and the room completely finished. Of course, Leah though with a frown, she would have preferred if said female had come earlier, but she figured that she should be grateful that she'd come at all.

"So _you're_ the person who's going to be painting our bedrooms." Seth's voice declared, bringing her back to the present. She turned to see her little ten year old brother standing at the door with his arms crossed and legs apart –probably his dismal attempt at looking intimidating-, with an exaggerated frown. Suddenly, he whipped out his left arm and pointed an accusing finger at the person in question. "You're late!" He exclaimed indignantly.

Leah's brown eyes shifted to Edgar who had at some point drifted to the window when she wasn't paying attention, and saw that really, for her part, she seemed totally unfazed.

"I am. I apologise if it's as much of a bother as you and your sister make it out to be." She replied, not even looking her little brother's way. Seth sputtered like an old train at being mostly ignored.

He puffed up his chest. "W-well, it's rude! And look at me when I'm talking to you! My mother says ignoring somebody is rude too!" He demanded hotly.

Edgar turned around to look at Seth, though her brows were furrowed slightly. "Well, my father says pointing blatantly at strangers, as well as speaking in loud tones is rude, especially demanding things in said tones. So if I am being rude, then you are as well. Perhaps even more so." She pointed out. Leah had to hide her smirk of amusement behind her hand as Seth froze, slowly processing her logic.

She decided to step in a salvage the situation while she could. "Seth, go and fetch the paint stuff from the shed. We're starting with my room first." She told him. Large chocolate eyes snapped in her direction in surprise, as if he'd temporarily forgotten that she was even there.

In her own bedroom.

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out slightly. "B-but, _I_ wanna do mine first." He complained. Leah placed her hands on her hips and gave him a firm look. Under normal circumstances, she would have succumbed without a fuss (especially with the way his puppy-dog eyes were looking at her), but she needed to get her bedroom done first before her parents got home.

" _Seth."_ She stressed in her no-nonsense tone. He gave a heavy sigh, before slouching off to do as told. Turning back to Edgar, who was still staring in the direction her brother went with a small frown, it was her turn to frown.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" She offered, remembering her manners, if a little belatedly.

All she got was a blank stare in return.


	15. Chapter XIV

**My lovelies, my darlings, I'm so sorry that this took so long! Something like a month? Oh wow.**

 **Though partly the reason this took so long is because some of the keys on my laptop have mysteriously stopped working, so I can't really type anything, and the on-screen keyboard is a bitch to use. I'll be forced to type chapters on my phone from now on until I can get it repaired. Sorry all.**

 **This chapter was a little difficult to write because, well, Edgar is just hard to write in general. Little Seth was fun though.**

 **Hope you all like it, and once again I'm really sorry :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter XIV - Indigo**

* * *

As soon as she started, Edgar could tell there was something bothering Leah the second she'd ripped the lid off the paint bucket with a viciousness the plastic did nothing to deserve.

The older girl had done it in a huff -basically throwing the lid to the side uncaringly, before shoving an old wooden stick inside and mixing the paint with the same amount of force someone would use when churning butter, and to be perfectly honest, Edgar thought it a bit overkill.

She continued to watch in silence as Leah then proceeded to savagely drown her paint roller in the grey liquid, making drops of silver fly everywhere, staining both herself _and_ the white material that covered the floor. The chocolate eyed girl roughly wiped her brow where a glob had landed with a deep growl of irritation, eyes suddenly watery as her chest heaved deeply and her fists were clenched tightly with emotion. Her mind was obviously plagued by some deep problem that was affecting her greatly, and judging by how she was acting, it was probably something that wasn't going to sort itself out easily.

Edgar stared a moment longer, seeing how the other girl pressed the roller on her wall as if she were working tar instead of paint, knuckles white around the handle and muscles on her bronze arms flexing with each movement -before turning away and deciding that she didn't really care anymore.

Other people's personal problems weren't her concern, least of all Leah Clearwater's. She could deal with whatever it was that was bothering her herself, and anyway, Edgar knew she wasn't the most emotionally savvy person in the world, so she couldn't really be expected to help even if she _did_ care.

And so she'd rather just stay in her own corner and finish the job as quickly as possible -which by her estimate, would only take about two hours, fourty-five minutes at most, Leah's room wasn't all that big. In less than no time, she would also be able to complete the overly-enthusiastic brother's room and she could be on her merry way.

People with extreme feelings made Edgar entirely uncomfortable.

They worked in silence for a long while, working steadily and methodically, disturbed only occasionally by Leah's sniffles and sounds of heart-wrenching anguish, all things Edgar was perfectly willing to block out and ignore completely, and by the time she'd finished her half of the first wall, she was feeling pretty satisfied with the time she was making.

Leah, in an apparent attempt to make her bedroom more 'mature' and suited to her tastes, had decided to paint her bedroom three colours. She'd chosen to paint one half of each wall a dark shade of grey, and the other half a rich indigo, each halves separated by a band of the light peach her bedroom had previously been. It wasn't a hard job, simply sticking a long strip of tape to the wall on the middle, bottom and top, all horizontal wise, then painting over them. Once dry, they'd peel away the tape, revealing the light borders.

It was really one of the simpler jobs Edgar had ever been commissioned to do, and though she'd been slightly annoyed with her father for forcing her into it, she was starting to think it was not so bad. She'd be busy throughout the ten day break, so perhaps this could be her last chance to paint for leisure for a long while.

Just as she was about to bend down her bucket to move and move on to her half of her next wall, there was a loud clang, followed by a splash and a cry of outrage, drawing her attention back to Leah on the other side of the room.

She stood, wiping away the splatters of paint that had fallen on her when the roller had slipped from her hands, -or at least, that's what Edgar _assumed_ , judging by the abandoned item sitting submerged in the paint bucket-, though her actions only served to smear the paint on her skin even more and cover her palms. With each failed attempt to wipe herself clean, she only grew more angry, scrubbing harder at her skin.

Edgar blinked at the oddly pitiful sight, before walking over to Leah and handed her the blue towel that hung out of the pocket of her apron. "Keep it with you until we're finished." She said. It wasn't as if she used it herself anyway -the black girl had no qualms about simply using her hands to wipe away paint that had splashed on her person, though most times it was simply ignored.

"Thanks." Leah murmured, using it on her arms. It didn't completely remove the colour, but it did help. She reached into the paint bucket and pulled out the dripping roller with a sigh. "It slipped." She said with a grimace, wiping the handle on the handle as well.

Edgar shrugged and moved back to her side of the room, seeing how Leah seemed a little more calm. "I gathered." She answered, "Although most people don't get so angry over an accident. Do you not like paint?" She inquired, only slightly curious. Perhaps that was why Leah had been in a terrible mood since they'd started. As unbelievable as it sounded, not _everyone_ liked painting, according to her father. She'd been appalled to learn that sad truth, but in the end it was just something that added to Edgar's ever growing list of things that she didn't understand about the rest of the human species, and she'd been forced to accept it, despite her own personal feelings.

Leah could just be one of those people, strange as they were, and would've preferred to do other things instead. If so, Edgar would gladly work on the rest of her bedroom herself.

The girl in question frowned, before turning away and getting back to work. Edgar noted that she had almost finished her own half of the wall. They'd agreed to both do their own halves of each wall in order to work faster -so while Leah would paint the bottom half of each wall grey, Edgar would paint the top half of each indigo.

"The paint isn't the problem." Stated Leah, sounding annoyed, before cursing as she dropped the roller in the bucket once more, globs of paint splashing everywhere.

Edgar tried to think of another cause for the older girl's apparent irritation, but for the life of her, she could not think of a good reason. She'd been perfectly content to ignore the whole thing, but now that it was clearly interfering with her work ethic, it was time to intervene. Maybe she was just tired? "If the work is too much for you then I can do it alone..." She proposed.

Though her honestly good intentions only served to make Leah angry, judging by the way she just seemed to...explode, for lack of better word. "I said I'm fine, alright!" She declared loudly, throwing her arms in the air suddenly.

Edgar stared at her blankly, because she did not in fact, say _anything_ of the sort, however something told her it wouldn't be the best course of action to point out that little fact, so instead she just nodded.

"...Alright." She acquiesced after a long moment of silence, before turning away.

Fifteen minutes later, just as Edgar was beginning to think that maybe Leah really _was_ 'fine', there was a heavy sigh and Leah spoke again, "Look," she started, sounding weary. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, I'm just in a really bad place right now." She explained with another sigh.

Edgar frowned, confused. What exactly did she mean by 'bad place'? They were simply in Leah's bedroom, no where Edgar would think of as 'bad'. Honestly, Edgar didn't think much of it at all. It was just a normal bedroom to her.

But maybe Leah's dislike of her own bedroom was much more than she'd first presumed.

"Oh." She replied eventually, because really, there was nothing else to say.

The older girl bit her lip, brows furrowed. "Maybe you can help me, since you're a girl. Maybe _you'd_ understand." She sounded vaguely hopeful at the end as she started straight at her.

"I doubt it."

Leah ignored her words. "I just went through a really bad break up, you see." She started, though Edgar did not see, because she had no idea what a 'break up' was in the first place.

Nonetheless she remained quiet and so Leah began her long winded explanation of how her fiance left her for her cousin with no explanation other than an apology. She then proceeded to pour her feelings out into the open, and by the time she finished ranting, she was wiping away angry tears and Edgar had long completed her part of the work.

Watery brown eyes started expectantly at her, "Well, what do you think?" Leah demanded, sounding angry.

What did Edgar think? Well, in all honesty, Edgar could not understand why Leah was so preoccupied with this 'Sam'. She failed to grasp the reasoning behind the other girls feelings. It was clear Sam was no longer interested.

Edgar frowned, "Why would you want to be with someone that doesn't want you?" She asked. Perhaps Leah would be able to explain so that she'd be able to understand more.

The older girl sputtered, her fists clenching as she glared straight at Edgar. "Because I _love_ him!" She exclaimed heatedly, clearly passionate about what she said as she wiped away another tear that had made its way down her cheek, though all of her 'passion' did nothing to clarify the situation.

Love? Edgar understood the concept, or at least she _thought_ she did. She could say she 'loved' her parents and her grandmother, or at least held a great level of fondness for them. How was someone able to tell if they truly 'loved' something or someone in the first place? None of the textbooks she'd ever read explained...

It all seemed a little too complicated for the black haired girl, and to be honest, she really couldn't be bothered.

But her father had always told her to show compassion towards others, even if it wasn't entirely genuine, and so Edgar nodded and pretended to understand. "It will all work out." Judging by the other girl's face, it wasn't the correct thing to say, but she decided to move on regardless. The topic was something she'd long grown weary of.

Standing up from where she'd sat on the bare mattress at Leah's behest earlier when she'd finished her work, Edgar pasted on the best smile she could. "I'm going to start on your brother's room now, since we're finished here."

The look on Leah's face was one of bafflement, one that Edgar thought had no place being there. Leah had presumed that she'd be able to help, and Edgar had told her that no, it wasn't likely.

It was her own fault that she hadn't listened.

* * *

Seth stared at the weird girl with creepy eyes from the doorway of his bedroom, watching as she painted the walls with the ease of long practice. He didn't like her, especially since she'd call him _rude_ (if anyone was rude, it was her!), but he could grudgingly admit she was really good at her job. She hadn't even finished yet, and yet the dark blue of his room seemed to glow!

He was surprised that she'd even managed to find the time to do his room in the first place. He'd thought that she would have helped Leah with re-decorating as well. His sister wasn't as careful as she thought she was, either that, or she must have thought him dumb. Either way, he was entirely aware of all the new bedroom things she'd kept stashed away at the back of her cupboard. He'd seen her 'smuggle' them in the day she bought them.

He wasn't about to tell their parents though, he knew better than that, and it wouldn't be worth it in the first place. Leah could be really mean when she wanted to.

And anyway, he kind of understood why she wanted to re-do her bedroom in the first place. No matter how much she tried to hide it, he could see that she'd been really sad ever since Sam left her for Emily -an what a surprise _that_ had been. No one had been expecting it. Their mother had even begun planning their wedding and he'd been totally down with the idea of Sam as an older brother.

The worst part was that their parents saw absolutely nothing wrong with the whole situation. Seth may have been young, but he wasn't too young to understand that leaving someone for their cousin was _not_ okay, and whenever Leah was caught crying, or even showing her displeasure at seeing Sam and Emily together, their parents seemed to grow angry!

Seth didn't understand why, and whenever he asked about the situation -because Sam was a good guy who'd loved his sister and no way would he have just _left_ her for no reason-, all he'd get was a frown from his father and a "Leave it alone."

It made him angry, the way they just brushed him and his sister aside, and he wouldn't have been so bad if it were just him, but Leah was hurting and it was like they didn't even care.

He was angry at Emily too. She'd been on their side at first, clearly refusing Sam's advances and defending Leah, even if Leah hadn't acknowledged her at all, and Seth had been grateful -but ever since Emily had been attacked by a bear in the forest (and gotten her super awesome battle scars), she and Sam had been basically glued together!

It was frustrating and the worst part was that Seth couldn't do anything to help Leah either, so he just pretended everything was fine in the hopes that she'd eventually get better.

But when he'd come from the bathroom, he heard her confessing everything to the weird painter girl, heard how sad she sounded and he realised that everything just wasn't going to just get better on it's own, and he _had_ to do something because no one else would.

...And his best bet was the girl in front of him, no matter how much she creeped him out.

"Can you teach me how to paint?" He blurted out, the words leaving his mouth in a rush.

The girl paused in the middle of extracting the dripping paint roller from the bucket and stared straight at him. She was didn't say anything for a _really_ long time, just stared at him, and Seth was beginning to regret asking in the first place.

"Why?" She asked, sounding curious. He swallowed and forced himself to not crumble under her gaze. He needed to be strong for Leah.

Maybe if he made something really nice for her, she'd realise she wasn't alone, and he was here for her, and maybe then she'd forget about Sam and finally be able to be happy again. "Because I want to help my sister!" He declared in what he hoped to be a mature voice.

The girl was silent, and he'd never met anyone who could go so long without blinking, and surely no one could win a staring contest against her, before finally, _finally_ she blinked and gave a shrug.

"Alright."


	16. Chapter XV

**I spent the duration of writing this chapter panicking because I thought I forgot what color Daniel's eyes were, so I ended up going back through the whole fic to find it, but then I realised that I hadn't assigned him on and I hadn't forgotten a fact about my own character. Lol.**

 **HAPPY 2016 ALL!**

 **Is it really a new year already? These three months have flown by faster than I can keep up with, I swear. I'm so sorry about the delay, honestly. It seemed more like three weeks than three months. I had a little bit of a writer's block, and to be honest I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter either, since I feel like I've kinda gotten out of the groove of writing Edgar, but making you guys wait wouldn't have been fair either.**

 **Edward is fucked. I know he's fucked. You guys know he's fucked. He himself does not know he's fucked. Despite all appearances from this chapter, it's gonna take him a gajillion more years to realise is own feelings, and a gajillion more to acknowledge and accept them. Don't expect anything exteme soon.**

 **Thanks to all who kept reviewing, even when I wasn't updating. I love you all 3 And an update schedule? I don't know what that is haha.**

 **Hope you like it :)**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter XV - Celadon**

* * *

"Good morning Daniel." Edgar greeted, as soon as she saw who it was that opened the door.

He stood in the threshold, and if Edgar had to assign him a mood, it would be purple, because discontentment veritably rolled off him in waves. A toothbrush was held in one hand, as he stared balefully at her, celadon coloured eyes half-closed. His blond hair was sticking up at all ends and he seemed to still be in his sleeping clothes, if her assumptions were correct.

"Its quarter to seven, Edgar." He told her, voice heavy, and she gave him a perplexed look, because she failed to understand why he felt the need to tell her that.

"I am perfectly aware of the time, Daniel." The black haired girl said patiently. "May I come in?"

He stared at her for a long moment, before sighing in what seemed to be resignation and stepping to the side. "Sure."

"Thank you." The house was quiet, something she wasn't used to, considering Mrs Smith was always doing something or the other whenever she visited. "Is your mother not home?" She asked, following Daniel into the kitchen.

"She's gone to work." He said, taking a glass from the cabinet and placing his toothbrush inside. "Do you want some breakfast or something?"

Edgar nodded gratefully, -she'd forgone her morning meal in her rush to get to the Smith residence- and took a seat on a stool by the kitchen island.

The fact that Julia Smith had a job was an unexpected revelation. The woman was always home, and though Edgar had never really spared more than a passing thought to it, she had just assumed that Mrs Smith was a stay-at-home mother. "Where does she work?"

"She owns a restaurant up in Port Angeles -goes there every once in a while to see if it's still standing." He murmured, raking out two bowls and placing them on the counter, followed by two spoons. Edgar nodded in comprehension. It seemed fitting -Mrs Smith loved to cook.

"Fruit muesli, Coco Pops or Cornflakes?" He asked, looking at her expectantly.

"Coco Pops please. I like how the milk slowly blends into a different colour. Its fun."

A short while later found her nibbling quietly on the cereal Daniel had kindly provided, watching the male in question look like he was about to fall asleep in his bowl of muesli. Perhaps he hadn't gotten enough sleep and was feeling the effects. Or maybe he didn't like to wake up early, much like herself.

"You didn't come yesterday," he said through a mouthful of cereal. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Edgar turned back to her own bowl.

"My father said he called your house to explain my absence."

The shrugged. "Maybe." Daniel hummed, twirling his spoon around. "My mother didn't tell me where you were, so I was curious."

"I went for a job in La Push." She told him. As the name came up, she also remembered a request that had been made of her -one that she was at loss at how to fufil.

"Oh."

When Edgar looked closer, she saw there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face looked paler than usual. She frowned, chewing thoughtfully. Could it be he was stressed?

"Stop staring at me. Its creepy." Daniel muttered, hunching forward, shoulders tense.

She did as told.

As soon as they finished eating, Daniel went up to his bedroom with a gruff "wait a moment, I have to get my violin", before leaving her to her own devices.

Reluctantly, she did as told, despite the fact that she'd have to get going soon because she had an appointment with Adonis -Edward Cullen, she corrected- and wasn't sure what time he'd arrive at her house.

When her host came back down, case in hand, she was hit with an idea. "Daniel," she started, following him into the living room. He gestured vaguely for her to take a seat on the couch. "Do you think you could help me help an eleven year old boy help his sister?" She asked, taking off her leather satchel and placing it on the ground by her feet.

He stopped in the middle of extracting the bow from its cover to give her a look of confusion. "Excuse me?"

Clearly, he needed an explanation. "Well, when I went to Port Angeles yesterday, the younger brother of my client requested I teach him how to paint, so I agreed. But I think I might need your help." She told him.

He continued staring at her, even as he took his own seat. "You need _my help_ to teach a kid how to paint?" He asked, to which she nodded in agreement. It wasn't so much the painting problem, as it was the _teaching_ , especially since she was terrible with children of all sorts.

Daniel snorted. "No." She watched in disappointment as he lifted the instrument to his lap with no other word. She didn't liked feeling disappointed.

Edgar gave a sigh. "I don't know why I did it."

"You don't know why you agreed to helping a twelve year cheer up his older sister?"

"...No."

Daniel paused in the tuning of his violin to give her a disbelieving look, both of his eyebrows lifted. " _Maybe_ , it was out of the kindness of your heart?" He proposed, sounding as if what he'd said was the only logical conclusion, and there could be no other. Edgar frowned thoughtfully. _Had_ she agreed because she was feeling uncommonly generous? Was it really an act of kindness? She thought back to the previous afternoon, when Seth has asked her, thought back to his pleading large brown eyes -a sharp contradiction to his puffed up chest and demanding voice.

But the more she thought of it, the more she knew that, no, she hasn't said yes out of pity. Edgar didn't like Seth, and doubted her feelings would be changing any time soon. He was a brat and he was annoying, but his childishness amused her, if she was being perfectly honest with herself. She figured that if he could get her attention, there must be at least _one_ thing interesting about him.

And if there wasn't -well, the impromptu lesson would only be something like an hour long. She could survive that much.

"I've never taught anyone before." Edgar eventually replied. The blond male huffed in what seemed to be defeat, shoulders slumping and his instrument hanging limp between his knees. His reaction was a little _much_ , because it wasn't as if they were fighting or anything, and as far as she knew, she hadn't said anything bad. Unless admitting her inexperience was considered a faux-pas, but that confused her any more because she was just being honest.

Though her father had told her _multiple_ times, that sometimes, honesty _wasn_ ' _t_ the best policy. And yes, maybe if she thought hard, she could understand. People were easily insulted, she'd learned.

He spoke again, after a lengthy silence, interrupting her thoughts. "I think you'd be a terrible teacher." He stated. Her hair bounced as she nodded in acknowledgement, because really, Edgar thought so too.

"I think it might be an interesting experience." Edgar said. Perhaps that was why she's agreed. Out of curiosity.

He snorted. "Right." The skepticism was clear in his voice.

She ignored it, because she'd already reached her conclusion, and continuing the conversation would be useless. Shrugging, she gave a noncommitant hum, standing up from where she'd been seated on the couch, and draping her leather bag over her apron. "Give your mother my apologies, Daniel." She declared adjusting the strap. "I have prior engagements arranged for the day, so unfortunately I will not be able to work on her portrait."

Daniel nodded without looking at her. "Sure, no problem." He said. She stared at him a moment longer, watching how he fiddled with the strings of the instrument unconsciously, obviously thinking about something important. Idly, she wondered what it could be. He'd seemed out of sorts since she'd arrived. Perhaps, he was worried about his own problems -whatever they were. Or maybe it was the fatigue. Either way, she wasn't going to ask about it.

"My grandmother requests a phone call soon." She told him, remembering her own phone call the previous evening. All she got was a vague murmur of acknowledgment as he placed the violin in position on his shoulder with the ease of long practice.

Giving him one last long look, she turned on her heel, and left the Smith house, the sound of _Capriccioso_ opening twenty-eight starting as soon as the door closed.

* * *

Loopholes, Edward found, were interesting things. They were ways to circumvent specific orders without actually doing anything wrong. For example, when Carlisle had warned him and his siblings not to go _actively_ searching for one such Edgar Beauregard. It was just pure coincidence that they'd had multiple encounters, none of them Edward's fault.

It was what he'd told his family after school on Tuesday, after announcing the fact his science teacher had assigned a posted project for the ten day break. Well, he hadn't so much announced it...more he had been compiling a set of handwritten notes from memory to use as reference (between his multiple stints at highschool, medical degrees, and his father, it was safe to say he knew almost all there was to know about Cells), when Emmett had marched in, bright grin on his face and football in hand. However the grin had instantly disappeared as soon as he caught sight of his brother writing.

"Come on Edward, we have _ten whole days_ to do our homework!" Emmett had announced, shooting the papers a dirty look as if they were a direct insult to his being.

"Unfortunately Emmett, I actually have a paired assignment and I have to meet with my partner tomorrow." His brother's face twisted in displeasure.

"I hate those. The humans are always to scared to actually _do_ anything." He rolled his eyes, spinning the football between his hands. "Who's your partner then? Can't you just, work through correspondence?"

"Firstly, its you're own fault everyone is too terrified to work with you, considering you take pleasure in terrorizing them during classes." Emmett's shrug was unapologetic, and it was Edward's turn to give an eye roll. "Secondly, we've already set up the time and place, so canceling now would be rude." Alright, so he had lied a little bit, but what Emmett didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

His brother huffed in exasperation, the ball spinning faster in his hands until smoke started to appear from the friction. Emmett didn't notice, "You could say you've suddenly been hit with sickness." He'd proposed. Edward scoffed.

"Not even she's oblivious enough to believe that."

"She?" Jasper asked, appearing next to Emmett in the doorway, looking interested. "I'd think you would have been eager to find an excuse, considering every female at that school behaves like a stallion in heat whenever you're in the vicinity." He and Emmett laughed, while Edward inwardly cursed Jasper for being so shrewd. His thoughts told Edward that he knew perfectly well what Edward was doing.

"Not _every_ female."

"Most of em." Emmett chuckled, finally giving the charred ball a break by tossing it up in the air. "Tell us who it is, so we can laugh at you." His grin was impish, catching the ball expertly.

"You're already laughing." Edward had deadpanned.

"For later." Jasper quipped.

"Edgar Beauregard." He told them with a weary sigh, because he just _knew_ they wouldn't have let him in peace had he not relented.

His two brothers went quiet, all signs of laughter erased from their faces in the place of disbelief. "Edgar Beauregard? That weird chick with the freakish talent?" Emmett breathed out, his mind filling with images of recollection from the few encounters that they'd had.

Edward scoweled because she wasn't _weird_ , and he certainly didn't appreciate Emmett's comment. "Don't call her weird, Emmett."

Jasper, quickly picking up on his tension held up his hands in placation, though he didn't forcefully calm him. "We're just a little surprised, Edward. Carlisle explicitly _told_ us not to go searching out for her."

"I didn't," Edward told him, running a hand through his hair in frustration, because he was honestly getting tired of this whole conversation. "The teacher was the one who assigned the partners. I wasn't even aware of the assignment."

Jasper was frowning. "Though you _have_ been spending awful lot of time with her lately. You even accompanied Esme to her house on Sunday." Emmett nodded in agreement.

"Most of those occasions were purely coincidental, like the time Emmett and I stumbled upon her in the hallway." He looked at his brother in question who simply shrugged.

"Maybe." The black haired male said.

Looking back to Jasper, he continued. "And it's not my fault Esme suddenly wanted to go see Charles Beauregard. I could hardly say no."

Emmett and Jasper exchanged looks, debating the credibility of his explanations. Eventually though, Emmett relented, "You're lucky Rose and them have gone up to Denali, otherwise she would have massacred you, no matter what you said." Emmett said. Jasper nodded in agreement.

Edward sighed, but he couldn't argue with what he'd said.

"Anyway, are you gonna come play or not?" Emmett eventually asked. Shooting a look at the abandoned papers on his desk, he found he wasn't in much of mood to continue.

"Let me just get changed."

As he parked his car in front of the Beauregard house, at precisely eleven am, he couldn't help but wonder if Carlisle would disapprove of him taking advantage of said loophole. Of course, in his father's own words, he _had_ said that if they found themselves in a situation where interacting with her was unavoidable, then it just couldn't be helped.

(Left unsaid was the fact that Edward Cullen had already been planning to interact with Miss Beauregard regardless, partnered project notwithstanding)

He sighed, picking up his backpack from where it had been sitting on the passenger seat and getting out of the car. Well, it was too late to turn back now, he thought.

As always, it was raining in Forks, not all that hard, simply a light drizzle though the raindrops were still cold. Cold enough that he could actually feel the chill, vague as the feeling was. And coupled with the upcoming winter weather, he had no doubt it would start snowing soon -he didn't Alice to figure that out.

Hurrying up the driveway at the fastest speed he could _reasonably_ get away with, he stopped at the large stained glass door, raising a hand to the doorbell.

He didn't have to wait long, Edgar heard it on the first chime and soon the almost non-existent sound of her footsteps met his ears, though he had to strain to hear.

Despite himself, Edward found himself far too eager to see her, smiling at the prospect of getting to spend a little more time trying to figure her out -figuring out if she really _was_ different from all the other humans he'd known.

The door opened, revealing the girl in question, and at first all he could do was stare, because she looked _different_ , and it took him a moment to realize what it was. She was still wearing her signature apron, and she had a smudge of purple paint on her forehead, but for once, her hair was tied up in a bun, with only a few strands hanging about her face.

"Ah, hullo, Edward." She greeted, voice a soft breeze as always.

And it struck him at that moment, -like _really, really_ struck him because it felt like he'd just been hit by Emmett's punches- how absolutely _lovely_ she was, with her silver eyes and porcelain skin. He'd never really paid attention to her appearance before, or at least nothing more than a superficial once-over, but now he had to wonder how he could have missed it.

"Good morning," he managed eventually, and he felt like a fool as he listened to her wonder thoughtfully as to why he had taken so long, because had he really been so obvious?

Nevertheless, she stepped aside, holding the door open. "Come in, we should begin as soon as possible. There's much to do."

As Edward walked through the door, a part of him, deep inside, was telling him to _stop_. Stop before it became too late, whilst he still had the chance for freedom, but that part was ignored, because where was the danger? Everything was perfectly normal far as he could see, there was no reason at all to be weary.

Little did he know, that the worst kind of danger was the one we could't see at all. And so, thus began, Edward Cullen's defeat at the workings of his own heart.


	17. Chapter XVI

**Yikes.**

 **Hiii friends, how's everyone doing? *coughs awkwardly***

 **Honestly, truely, I'm really, really, _really,_ sorry that I disappeared for almost a year and left you all hanging. I didn't mean to, its just, life man. Life's hard all around. **

**But thanks to all the support I've received, even during my absence, I finally pulled myself together and wrote this chapter. I just hope no one is out of character lol, you know its been long when you can't get into the mentality of your own OC.**

 **Yet again, yikes.**

 **On the bright side, we're finally, finally getting into the main plot! No, this story isn't just crack, yes, there'll be an actual storyline. Surprise.**

 **Once again, thank you all for constantly _reviewing_ and following and fav'ing this fic, despite my constant nonsense, and to those who saw my promise in _Ink_ \- sorry. **

**I hope this chapter isn't _too terrible._**

 **Review?**

* * *

 **Chapter XVI - Sangria**

* * *

Edward was currently in the middle giving a very good and comprehensible explanation as to how exactly cell division occured. He was even going into detail about Interphase and how cells gathered nutrients in preparation for the duplication of their DNA. It was a very good explanation indeed, Edgar thought. A much better explanation than what their biology teacher had given them anyway. That one had been horrendous, in her personal opinion;it featured a boring power point presentation, useless information leaflets, and the dryest lecture she'd ever received.

Though to be fair to Mr Banner, Edgar found almost _every_ class entirely mind-numbing, but nonetheless, the leaflets had now found a home in the trash.

Thankfully, Edward didn't drone on and on in a half-dead manner like Mr Banner did either, and he had a certain way of speaking that just _commanded_ you to concentrate and give him your full, entire attention.

It was an unfortunate thing, however, that Edgar Beauregard had never been particularly good with commands, and was only half listening to him at all. She was focused on more important things.

Things like figuring out just _what in the world_ was going on with his hair.

Its unruly state was not what was preoccupying her mind, but instead, the fact that _every_ time she saw him, his hair was always a different color. For example, the first time she saw him, that fateful day from across the cafeteria, under the florescent lights, his hair had been a light bronze, and under the gloomy sky so full of dark clouds when he'd ambushed her in her garden, it had been a dark rusty shade, or Tuesday when she'd sat next to him in Bio, when it had been almost burgundy. It was a mystery to her, how one person's hair could change so much with no help at all but the lighting around them -and like most things that involved Edward Cullen, Edgar didn't know whether to feel amazed or infuriated. He was already some spectacular mythical higher-being sent to earth to bewitch the humans (Either that or just to twist her mind into confusion, Edgar still wasn't see sure which yet), now on top of everything he had magic hair.

It was no wonder his ego was so insufferably large.

Today, it was the colour of Sangria, a deep red that _just_ blurred the line into brown. Even though it was damp from the rain, it was still in its perpetually messy state, arrogantly defying all gravitational laws, and at this point, she wondered if there was anything that could tame it.

It hung over his face as he bent over his notebook, casting a shadow on his butterscotch eyes, and making him look like the brooding Deity she suspected he was, cursing his fate trapped on this earth away from home. Her fingers twitched as she imagined it depicted on a painting, like something straight out of the renaissance. Large and grand, in sepia tones to reinforce the grimness of the whole scene Oh, Edgar could see it already. She'd change the setting a little, transform her living room and make it _more_ -

"-Edgar?" Interrupted the subject of her thoughts, and she just barely resisted the urge to jump in surprise. She'd forgotten his presence beside her, so deep in her imagination as she'd been.

She blinked at him owlishly. "Yes?" In her lap, she clenched her fingers tightly and forcefully shoved any desire to paint him away. She wouldn't do it, no matter how much she wanted to, because painting Edward, or doing anything similar meant letting him win, and she _would not._

Edward watched her, eyes twinkling and a crooked smile on his face as if he found something endlessly amusing, and her brows furrowed, because as far as she knew, there was nothing of the sort around. "I was asking if you understood." He told her, lifting a single brow expectantly.

If Edgar was being perfectly honest, she'd lost track somewhere between prophase and anaphase, and had no idea what he was referring to. She _did_ try, in her defense, to recall what exactly he'd been saying while she wasn't paying attention, but for the _life_ of her, couldn't remember. A foreign feeling invaded her body, one she didn't experience very often, but she gathered it was shame, because the only reason he'd bothered to explain anything at all was because she'd mentioned in passing their project assignment was of a topic she hadn't understood very well.

But the shame was easily cast aside after a brief moment. It wasn't _her_ fault really - it was that _magic hair_ of his.

Edward only looked more entertained however, and a feeling of annoyance crept up within her because just _what_ did he find so amusing?

"Nevermind," he said suddenly, shaking his head, still smiling to himself.

Her lips pulled down imperceptibly into a frown, but she didn't pursue the subject of his odd behavior, she had long established he was weird after all.

Instead, she used a paint-stained hand and gathered his notebook from where it had been sitting open in front of them on the coffee table, and peered down at his neat calligraphy. It was all so detailed, she couldn't help but notice, and much easier to understand than their biology textbooks. The diagrams were drawn neatly (with a skill even she begrudgingly envied), pointed out precisely and cleanly, and the important notes highlighted and or underlined. It looked extremely organized -far cry from her half-hearted scribbles only jotted down when Mr Banner glared at her.

"Do you like biology?" She asked him curiously, because really, Edgar couldn't see any other reason as to why someone would put so much effort into something if they didn't like it, especially something as tedious as Bio.

Edward hummed noncommittally, "I suppose its interesting enough in the right circumstances," he answered with a shrug. Edgar's eyes flickered from the pages up to his own, as she watched him contemplatively. She _could_ see where he was coming from, if she really tried. The human body was interesting in its own way, though she was mostly only interested in it for aesthetical purposes if anything, and couldn't much see the appeal anywhere else.

Finally, she placed the notebook aside. "How do you want to divide the work?" She asked him.

Edward picked up the black folder Mr Banner had given them with their topic, his elegant hand opening it to the first page where their instructions were listed. "We're not allowed to use PowerPoint, he wants it all done by hand for evidence that-" he froze abruptly, turning into a statue as she scooted closer to better see, close enough that their shoulders were almost touching as she leaned forward to read the page herself. It was indeed a long list of things their teacher expected from them in order to achieve a passing grade, including, much to the silver eyed girl's horror, equal participation when it came to delivering said presentation in front of the class.

She'd been perfectly willing to do her part of course, she didn't think it fair to foster all the work on Edward alone, -even if she didn't very much like him-, but public speaking was something she wasn't very good at. She could barely manage isolated conversation with one other individual without unknowingly committing some disastrous social faux-pas -needless to say, speaking to a large group of people wasn't much easier.

She wondered if she could somehow avoid it, surely Mr Banner would agree it would be better for Edward to do all the speaking.

Said boy however, currently wasn't doing any speaking _at all._

Edgar gave him a quizzical look when he didn't continue, not understanding his sudden silence. "...Evidence that?" She prompted.

Edward blinked rapidly, as if snapped out of a sudden reverie, before his dark brows pulled into a frown, "That we didn't cheat." He murmured, looking preoccupied with something else.

She stared at him for a moment longer, confused by his inattention, before slowly nodding in understanding and looking back to the folder, reading the list of supplies needed. "It seems you already have most of the notes done, unfortunately, I just used the last of presentation paper yesterday..."

"We could go buy the supplies now," he offered, demeanor casual and relaxed once more. Edgar found the sudden mood change disorienting, giving him a strange look.

"Right now?" She asked unsurely, her eyes flickering to the digital clock on her father's decoder. It was going for noon, though the overcast skies outside hid the sun.

The amber eyed male next to her simply gave her a small smile and another shrug, "Why not? No time like the present, after all."

Well, he was right, she supposed. There was no point in delaying, especially since they couldn't move forward without the supplies. And anyway, it would be more beneficial to her if they could finish the project as soon as possible, considering everything else she had to do.

Nodding to herself, her mind made up, she stood and looked at him expectantly, "Shall we go then?"

* * *

Daniel stared at the silver flip phone sitting innocently on his work desk, screen opened up and beaming up at him with his seafront wallpaper.

He'd been staring at it for almost an hour straight, sitting hunched over in his desk chair, hands clasped in front of his face and having not moved an inch since he'd first sat down.

It wasn't that the cellphone had done anything to him personally -not that an inanimate object could do much in the first place- but what it was associated with that had him conflicted. Its association with phone calls mostly, or more specifically, a call to one Mrs Cecilia Beauregard.

She was a nice enough woman in her own right, kind with eyes that sparkled with the youth of one many years younger than her and very intelligent, something that even had seen in his short duration in her company.

The problem was she was a veritable stranger, and even if she wasn't, it was just plain _weird_ calling somebody else's Grandmother, whether or not you knew them personally.

His brows furrowed as he recalled Edgar's words from that morning, that she was awaiting his phone call, but for the life of him, Daniel couldn't even begin to guess what the elderly woman could want with him -him being a seventeen year old junior in highschool, who came from an average middle-class family that didn't even begin to _skim_ the level of high-class Mrs Beauregard was a part of.

She'd seemed to like him for some inexplicable reason, but was that really enough to warrant a phone call on his part? The worst part was that Daniel hated phone calls; they were awkward and seemed to involve a sort of expectancy that both participants make extra effort to contribute to the conversation when more often than not, neither had much to say in the first place.

Unless it was one of the extended family members his mother was always threatening him into talking to -they could go on for hours on end and to make matters worse, always spoke to him as if he was ten years younger than his actual age.

He wondered if Mrs Beauregard was likely to be the same, but dismissed the thought quickly enough. She didn't seem like the type to insult another person's intellect in such a manner.

He wasn't in much of a mood to talk to anyone in all honesty, phone call or no. He'd much rather continue wallowing in his own cloud of self-pity as he brooded over his own problems - like how the hell he was going to afford the money to pursue a college education. Oh sure, he had his parents, but he also had three older siblings -two of which who were also currently earning their degrees. And regardless if they weren't, his parents incomes weren't enough to send him to his preferred University of choice, being the entirely prestigious Royal British Academy of Music.

Scholarships were an option, but with so many others trying the same route, all probably more talented and experienced than he was, it was unlikely he'd get in.

His eyes drifted to the small piece of paper with Mrs Beauregard's number on it, and with a sigh of resignation, the blond haired boy picked up his phone and dialled it.

Maybe if he asked nicely, she'd give him a million dollars.

 _"Good afternoon, this is the Beauregard residence, how may I help you?_ " An unknown male voice answered in a bland but still somehow haughty tone.

It was a voice that had probably destroyed many a self-esteem, and Daniel fumbled, unsure how to manage under such a sudden onslaught of utter snob, "W-Well, I um, is -is Mrs Beauregard there?" He said in a rushed tone.

He curesed his inability to form a coherant sentence when when there was a long paused at the other end of the line and he could just _feel_ the silent judgment through the speakers.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the man finally spoke, " _Yes. Who should I tell her is one the line?"_ He asked expectantly.

The green eyed boy coughed awkwardly, "Uh, Daniel -Daniel Smith." He said, trying to make his voice as confident as possible, though he suspected that he'd had one chance to garner the man's respect, and he'd already lost it.

 _"Please wait a moment,_ " Declared the man, who Daniel gathered was in fact, Mrs Beauregard's butler. What was his name again? Timothy? Thomas?

In an attempt to not come off as even more incompetent when the line was finally picked up again, Daniel tried to pull himself together, telling himself to keep calm and nonchalant, act as if talking to those in the upper class were an every day occurrence for him, which it quite obviously, wasn't.

" _Daniel, my dear, what a pleasant surprise!_ " Mrs Beauregard greeted happily, abruptly interrupting his inner pep talk.

He jumped a little, startled, "Oh, uh, h-hi Mrs Beauregard, Edgar said you, um, wanted to talk to me?" he asked lamely, and just desired the urge to sigh in defeat.

So much for appearing nonchalant.

" _Indeed,_ " she confirmed, _"Though I must confess I am a little disappointed you didn't call sooner, but don't worry dear, its not your fault. If I know my Granddaughter -and I do- she likely only told you today! Darling Edgar, always with her head in the clouds,_ " the woman said fondly, and he couldn't dispute her. She was right on both accounts.

" _Now then, regarding what I wanted to talk to you about, Edgar told me you play the violin, yes? You're quite good, according to her."_

He blinked rapidly in surprise, shocked that the odd girl had actually said such a thing to her grandmother. "Well, I'm not bad..."

Mrs Beauregard laughed, _"Oh, I'm sure you're much better than you give yourself credit for. Edgar wouldn't say so if you aren't."_ She told him, " _Now then, the annual Blue Rose Charity Ball will be taking place this Saturday, and as one of the individuals involved in organizing, I was wondering if you'd be willing to come and join the orchestra? Its completely voluntary, as is the whole point of charity, but I do think it will be a good opportunity for you nonetheless -especially because there's someone I'd very much like you to meet."_

The Blue Rose Charity Ball? As in, the very same ball in which only the most influential were allowed to attend? He knew of it of course - how could he _not_? Even the most secluded of hermits were aware of its existence, and here he was, being offered a free pass.

He didn't even have to think about it, "T-thank you so much Mrs Beauregard, I really would love to participate." He told her honestly. It didn't matter that he wouldn't be getting paid, the mere chance at getting to play at such a prestigious event was more than enough. He'd be playing alongside with world class musicians, something he could only _dream_ about.

" _Wonderful!"_ Mrs Beauregard declared cheerfully, _"Would you be available to come over tomorrow so we can discuss the details and introduce you to the other members of the orchestra?"_

Daniel nodded excitedly, a giant grin splitting his face, "Yes, I'm free. What time should I come over?"

 _"I shall expect you at nine o'clock sharp. Do you remember the way?"_ She asked, sounding concerned, _"I can send a driver to pick you up, if you prefer?"_

"N-no, its okay. I remember, I'll be there." He assured her. He'd run all the way if he had to.

 _"Don't be late then, and bring your violin, I have a feeling you'll need it_." She told him, sounding pleased.

"I will. Thank you _so_ much, Mrs Beauregard." He stressed, hoping that she could hear just how genuinely he meant it. She'd just given him the opportunity of a lifetime, and he was wholeheartedly grateful.

A bright laugh was what he got in reply, " _Anything for a friend of my granddaughter's_ ," the older woman declared happily, " _Have a splendid day, Dearie!"_ And with that, the line was cut, leaving Daniel with a bright smile and a feeling of excitement rushing through his veins.

It may not have been a million dollars, but it was the next best thing.


	18. Chapter XVII

**Its been so long I've even forgot how to do authors notes lmfao.**

 **Happy one year anniversary! Of my not updating, yay! *blows a toot***

 **Look guys, it's been a tough year, really, but I am so, so sorry for this delay, and my constant false promises. You guys continue to support me, even through all my nonsense, and this is how I repay you. You all deserve more. I am truly, honestly, very, VERY sorry.**

 **I hope this chapter was worth the long wait, and I'll try and try to get back into the update groove, so please don't hate me.**

 **I recommend going back and rereading the previous chapter, considering just how long its been lol, but otherwise I hope you enjoy this.**

 **Review?**

 **:)**

* * *

 **Shameless Promo! Checkout my new Edward/OC fic _January_ if y'all can!**

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 **Chapter XVII - Flax**

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Upon entering the local Forks art store, it became quite apparent to Edward, quite quickly, that Edgar was no stranger when it came to shopping for art supplies. From the moment they crossed the threshold and the cheerful greeting bell rang out announcing their arrival, it was clear to see that she was in her element -the way her chin lifted just a little higher, her shoulders loosening just a little bit more, an air of confidence and surety surrounding her whole being -and the change, small as it was, was also very glaring, and that was something he couldn't help but dwell on.

It wasn't that Edgar was shy per se -far from it in fact- but for all her bluntness and lack of care for the rest of the world, she also held an aura of awkwardness around her, a sort of uncertainty in the way she carried herself, like she was just a little bit lost.

And yes, he'd long learned that for all her artistic talent, Edgar had the social skills of an Alien from another galaxy entirely - but it was _more_ than that. An alien could potentially learn to assimilate, adjust with time and exposure, but Edgar -the same dreamy, moon-eyed girl who was currently staring at a paintbrush display as if it were instead a rare collection of priceless artifacts-, for all her being a native of planet Earth, it was as if she still didn't quite know how to behave around humans, how to react appropriately, how to respond to them and replicate their behaviour -as if she didn't know _how_ to be human. It wasn't even for lack of trying on her part, shame. He knew very well that she had books about the topic that she used for reference on how to carry herself in social situations (much to his unwitting amusement), often recalled her father's lessons before acting as well, but at the end of the day, Edgar really just wasn't equipped for prolonged exposure to human society.

And how ironic it was, Edward couldn't help but think wryly as he watched her gently pick up a thinly bristled brush and debate whether or not purchasing it would be worth her father's ire, that here he was, a soulless monster, so good at playing human with barely any effort, while she an _actual_ humanbeing, failed miserably at something she didn't even have to _try_ to be.

The owner of the shop chose that moment to appear from where she'd been rearranging the magazine stand, and upon catching sight of him, her thoughts turned surprised, then cheerful. He came to her store every once in a while with Esme, and for some inexplicable reason she'd grown fond of him. She was an elderly woman, with greying hair and crow's feet at her eyes, but her smile was genuine and she was one of the few humans in the small backwater town who treated his family with openness and kindness, which was a refreshing change from the rest of them.

Though when she caught sight of Edgar, she stumbled, her brows furrowing in confusion, her brown eyes flickering between the two of them as she tried to make sense of their being together, and really, Edward couldn't exactly _blame_ her for it.

It seemed though, that she knew Edgar well, and after her momentary pause, her look of confusion melted into one of fond exasperation as she realised that the young girl was currently mid-way into reaching forward for the paintbrush display.

"Stop right there, young lady." Said the eldery woman, in a stern voice as she approached -Ms Pearson, he remembered. Never been married, no intentions to-, and much to his entertainment, Edgar _did_ , freezing in place, her expression looking much like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

 _Maybe I can convince her to allow me just_ this _once,_ thoughtEdgar _,_ slowly lowering her hand that was still clutching the thin paintbrush and turning to look at the woman with wide silver eyes, blinking innocently.

It was an oddly endearing sight, Edward couldn't help but think as he watched her. She looked like a baby owl, completely disarming in her charm.

Unfortunately, the grey-haired lady was very familiar with the act, and wasn't swayed. In a movement far too quick for a human her age, she snatched the paintbrush away and placed it neatly back in its place on the display, before turning back to Edgar with a no-nonsense frown. "Your father gave me specific orders not to let to buy anything willy-nilly, and you promised to be more responsible. Why, you were in here just last week, buying the exact _same_ kind of brush! You can't tell me you've worn it out already!"

He watched in amusement as the girl in question opened her mouth, taking a deep breath to defend herself and her honor (apparently she really _had_ worn out the brush in one week), but one look from the stern woman had her shutting it again, shoulders slumping and her pink lips forming a pout.

"This is oppression of my artistic liberty." Said the black haired girl in a petulant tone, but all she got in reply was a huff of exasperation, and he had to cough to hide his chuckle.

"Edward, dearie, so good to see you." The old woman said, turning to him with a warm smile. "Though I must admit I am a tad surprised to see you in the company of this little troublemaker here -Edgar is quite the handful, no mistake there. Still, its nice to see you making friends. I was worried you weren't settling in well. I know how hard it is moving to a completely new environment." Ms Pearson sympathized, folding her hands together and pursing her lips slightly as a memory of her own first years in the small town played in her mind. Lonely, boring, cold, were the impressions he got.

Edward shrugged disarmingly, "I suppose I just needed some time to acclimatize." He replied, never mind the fact that he and his family had been in Forks going on a year now, which under normal circumstances, should've been plenty enough time to 'acclimatize'. They just weren't interested.

The grey haired lady gave a pleased hum because _'its so nice these two finally interacting with other people, and oh, they do make quite the pair don't they?_ nodded once, and turned to a still-sulking Edgar (who was in the process of thinking up a way to convince her father to relax his restrictions a bit more) with a raised eyebrow. "Well then, how can I help you two today?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Edgar extracted the assigned list of supplies they'd been given from her rucksack, and handed it over to Ms Pearson.

"School project?" Asked the woman.

"Evidently." Was the mulish reply the black haired girl gave in reply as she glowered at the paintbrushes on the display stand.

He rose a brow pointedly at her, but she pretended not to notice.

Ms Pearson, for her part, was unfazed by Edgar's dark mood, only sparing an _oh look at the poor dear, just like her mother, perhaps I can talk to Charles..._ Before she was all business once again, nodding decisively. "Well, you know my store better than I do." She murmured in reply to the younger girl, before handing the paper to him.

"I'll just leave you two to it then." Said the woman, and with one last smile, she left them.

Turning to Edgar, he gave the black haired girl a crooked smile. "Shall we?"

Shopping with the younger girl, was a different sort of experience, Edward soon found. He liked to consider himself somewhat of a (reluctant) shopping veteran, considering her had two sisters and a mother who frequently loved to drag him around for such excursions and thought them, had come to know the ins and ours of the sport -and it really was a sport, it took a special kind of dedication, practice, and technique, as well as mental and physical discipline, no matter what it seemed like at first glace. It honestly merited a spot in the international Olympics -no one could tell him otherwise.

Still, Edgar didn't so much as slowly browse between each item, as Esme did, nor did she excited flit from one to another like Alice, and she didn't brush past everything for that one item in particular, like Rose.

No, she sorted of did a mix of all three, browsing and rushing and bypassing alternatively, her mind quick as lightening as she assessed what was in store, its quality, and it's usefulness.

He'd gladly ceded their list into her capable hands, because for all his years on this earth, he genuinely hadn't known, that there were so many kinds of what he'd previously assumed to be simple A2 project paper.

The look Edgar given him upon his admission was withering. Her thoughts revealed how much of a travesty she really did consider this, disdaining at the fact that anyone could be so uninformed. To her, paper quality was the most important of all, for without good paper, one couldn't do anything at all! She then proceeded to explain to him, in excessive detail, just _why_ this quality was better than that quality, and how they differed much to his unconcealed amusement.

"Oh, and why exactly have you chosen this type of binding?" He asked casually, and honestly, he wasn't much interested in the intricacies of stationary, but he _did_ enjoy how animated she became -her eyes gleamed and her hands waved as she talked, her charasteristically soft voice rising with her enthusiasm. He found himself watching her, noticing how her entire personality changed, how she was full of _life_ , and that dark space where his heart had not beat in over ninety years, seemed to warm.

The realization hit him abruptly, how utterly charmed he was by this petite human girl.

She was clever, and beautiful, and _interesting_ , constantly surprising him and leaving him foundering, and Edward wondered how anyone could disregard her, dismiss this girl as easily as they did. How he himself could have missed her presence for as long as he did. He was almost ashamed of himself, for not finding her sooner.

And yet, even as he watched her tick another item of the list, he knew that as much as he'd come to enjoy being around her, he also knew how much of a risk it was for the both of them. He wanted, very much, to be able to continue to learn about her even after this little project of theirs was finished, to continue unravelling the many layers of her personality, but he could not. Spending such a great amount of time with a single human was dangerous, the potential for a mistake too high to ignore. What would she do, should she find out what he was, the monster hidden under his veil of civility.

He thought of the bleak, dark world he'd been living in before she came along, and knew it would only be a million times worse to return to it, after catching a glimpse of the brilliant supernova that was Edgar Beauregard. But he had to put his selfishness aside and be rational. He'd indulged himself far too much.

His resolve was set; as soon as their required school work was put to an end, he'd put the sorely needed distance between them once more, and they would resume as before.

* * *

Daniel Smith, was a very sweet, if painfully awkward young man, Cecilia Beauregard found. With his dirty blond hair and emerald green eyes, he was pleasant to look at, but he hid his looks under a thick wall of self-consciousness that somehow eclipsed it all. That wasn't to say that he was shy however, just not particularly outgoing. That had been evident enough even through the phone call they'd shared the previous afternoon, in which it had seemed like he had no idea what to say nor how to carry on conversation.

She found it both endearing, and a little exasperating -leave it to her granddaughter to find herself a friend who was just as socially awkward, if not more. Edgar was a special case, social nuances flew right over her head, but the blond boy was almost _extremely_ aware of them, and in his attempt to navigate them ended up tripping and stumbling instead.

Between the two of them, it was a wonder they were even able to have a conversation.

He'd arrived at her door at nine am sharp, just as she'd instructed, holding his violin case in one hand, and clutching at the backpack over his shoulder with the other, shifting from foot to foot and staring around with wide eyes.

And because Cecilia loved to watch people squirm, she gave him her biggest hug and a fond pat on the cheek, enjoying how his arms floundered about as he tried to decide whether it was appropriate to hug her back. She didn't blame him, they'd only met once, but well, being an old woman had its perks, and she could practically get away with anything.

Thomas had sat him down in the foyer with a tea-set that the boy had stared at as if he'd had no idea what to do with it, and she'd hurried back to her chambers to drape a shawl over her cream colored suit, and retrieve her pretty white handbag, a birthday gift from Catherine a year previous. Her daughter always knew just what she liked.

"I'm so glad you've managed to make it, oh I just know you'll be a lovely addition to the orchestra." She spoke as she adjusted the pearls on her neck in the grand mirror or the foyer while Thomas readied the car. "I know my granddaughter, and she rarely, if ever gives anyone a compliment. You must be excellent, Daniel, I'm very excited."

The boy fidgeted, cheeks red and looking everywhere but at her, "I'm not all that great, Ma'am." He replied humbly. Cecilia turned to give him a reassuring smile.

"Oh don't worry dearie, I'm not expecting you to be the other next Vivaldi, please try relax. While the Blue Rose Ball _is_ a very important event, it is also a chance for you to make yourself known, perhaps even attracted some kind parties. Nothing different than what you're used to, I'm sure." She declared. Thomas appeared, signalling all was ready.

She motioned for Daniel to come along, before following after her loyal butler. The man had been in their family for over thirty years, veritably helped raise both Charles and Catherine. William of course, had already been well into his childhood when Thomas had arrived, but it remained that the man was practically family at this point.

"Now Daniel," Cecilia started when the were well on their way to the city center, "I know its a bit short notice, considering we only spoke yesterday, but I've arranged a meeting for you with the head conductor. They're running rehearsal today, and I spoke to him about you, but well, he's a bit difficult. You'll be expected to demonstrate your skills-" she saw the look of panic that bloomed over his face, and quickly rushed on, "Nothing big of course. A short piece, I have full confidence in you. I just wanted you to be aware." She informed him.

He swallowed, "Oh."

She patted his hand that lay on the black leather seat between them, "He's Italian you know, and they've got a great ear for talent." She said, before continuing, "Why in _fact_ , this year, our primary group of sponsors are from Italy, a trio of brothers who have very old blood, and thus, the charity theme is set around old Florentine masquerades!"

"Sounds fun." Daniel murmured. Cecilia tried to give him reassuring smile.

It seemed he was only becoming more and more nervous. "Edgar will be there too of course, we're auctioning a few of her pieces, and she hates these kinds of things. You'll have each other at least, to keep company."

The blond only gave a sigh.


	19. Chapter XVIII

**What a chapter this was, ha. I figured it was time enough to pick up the pace no? Plot, I say!**

 **Thank you to all that came back to this fic, and continued to encourage me and accept my apologies. I love you all so much!**

 **Hope you all like it, and I'm excited to read everyone's reactions to this, especially since its very different from the usual.**

 **Review?**

 **:)**

* * *

 **Chapter XVIII - Garnet**

* * *

"So, I was with your grandmother, yesterday." Daniel started awkwardly, watching as Edgar gathered her things after finishing up the latest session with his mother. His eyes flickered to the painting that sat drying on the easel, half done and looking entirely _real_ \- much like a half inked photograph out of a high definition camera. His mother sat sprawled on their couch, the end of her dress trailing the floor and her hand under her chin, looking twenty years younger and a lot less round about the hips, as per instructed (much to his and his father's amusement). The silver eyed girl had perfectly depicted everything from the creases in the silk material, to the miniscule patterns in her cornea, and if he were to be frank, he found it half breathtaking, half _disconcerting._

The former, because it _really was_ stunning, no doubt about it, and the latter, because just last night, he could have _sworn_ the eyes in the painting were judging him after he climbed up to bed at four am after a binge-watching session of Extreme Couponing, and it was honestly the most terrifying thing, _ever_.

But Daniel wasn't a frank person by nature, and so he'd keep that little tidbit to himself.

Edgar still hadn't answered though, even when he knew she'd heard him perfectly well, and he sighed, plucking morosely at the strings on the violin in his lap. "I'm to perform with the Orchestra at the Charity Ball. She introduced me to the conductor." Daniel swallowed down the lump in his throat, not quite managing to get out what he really wanted to say, which was more along the lines of 'She introduced me to the conductor, and I croaked.' He felt miserable, humiliated, and just generally downtrodden, his failure playing over and over in his head incessantly, the unamused expression of the dark haired conductor, and Cecilia's Beauregard's look of open mouthed horror appearing in his mind whenever he so much as closed his eyes.

"We'll call you." Was all he got, before the Italian man walked away without another glance, shattering Daniel's heart more and more with each step away he took.

 _Way to go_ , he told himself bitterly, _you blew a chance at your future before it even began._

The car ride back had been comprised of a stony silence on his part, despite Mrs Beauregard trying to comfort him, her encouraging words and fluttering hands trying to pull him out of his sadness -a lovely woman, she was, to still be talking to him even after if he'd blown it spectacularly and possibly jeopardized her reputation.

The first thing he'd done upon his arrival home after the whole ordeal was crawl onto the couch and bury himself in his mother's handsewn quilt, drowning his sorrows in the inanity of reality TV. His budding career as a violinist was over, obviously he'd been overestimating his talents in the first place. It was time to let go, he'd decided. Put the violin aside, bring up his math grades, and look for a more sensible career in accounting. He'd marry a local Forks girl, carry a briefcase, and pretend he wasn't harboring a dark past and a farfetched dream of becoming a renowned composer.

(Obviously the decision was an unrealistic one, taken in the throes of his heavy teenage melodrama. He adored violin, it was practically the air he breathed, the one thing that kept him from sinking into the pitiful level of mediocrity that threatened to swallow him whole at any moment. And even if he didn't, his mother would murder him herself if he gave up the violin and threw away the years of private lessons she'd worked tirelessly for.

Plus, marrying a local girl wasn't all that possible either, considering he was gay anyway.)

Finally Edgar glanced at him, eyes roaming him over unabashedly, silent in that _way_ of hers, and he tried very hard not to squirm. "You don't seem joyful..." She spoke eventually, sounding confused with her brows furrowing. Clearly she was trying to puzzle him out, with little success. "I expected you to be very satisfied with the opportunity, which is why I spoke to my grandmother. Was I wrong?" She asked simply, to which he hastily shook his head, because the last thing he needed was to appear ungrateful.

"It's not that," he said, which only made her look _more_ confused, and he forced himself to continue, "It's just, well, I didn't make a very good impression."

The black haired girl finished pocketing her many paintbrushes back into the pouches of her apron, before wiping her hands on a paint stained rag that she hung over her left shoulder when she was done. There was large smudge of verdant paint on her cheek. "Why do you think that?" Was her question.

He plucked out another note nervously; his teacher would be arriving any moment now, and if he couldn't even tell Edgar the full story, then how would he fare under the no-nonsense countenance of the woman who'd drilled him for nothing but perfection since he'd first held a violin at the tender age of six?

So Daniel took a deep breath and forced out the words that had been choking him for the last twenty-four hours. "I failed." He admitted breathlessly, and before he knew it, everything was just spilling out in a guilt-ridden rush, "I had to perform a demonstration of my skills so that the Conductor could see whether or not it was worth putting me into he recent lineup with the other musicians, so stupidly I went and chose a piece by Maxim Vengerov, thinking that I'd be able to play it well enough to impress him -but I should have _known_ because I can barely go over an entire one of his movements here at home without messing up, so what possessed me to go reveal my inadequacy to the whole world? It was so horrible it was almost impressive! Mistake after mistake, I couldn't even hold a simple three-quater _D_ note! I embarrassed not only myself, but your poor grandmother too, she'll probably never want to see me again!" He bemoaned, cringing in remembrance at his epic failures and inwardly sobbing at the sight of his crumbling future. Goodbye, Royal British Academy of Music. It was a nice dream while it lasted.

He jumped when he felt something pat his shoulder, a little too lightly for it to be comforting, and looked up to see Edgar standing over him, a hesitant, if slightly panicked expression on her face. Her hand came down again, then stayed a few seconds, before she lifted it and brought it down suddenly again, the rhythm of the motion disjointed and abrupt. "What are you doing?" He asked her after a long moment of silence.

Her hand paused above his shoulder, and she blinked at him with her wide eyes, "One of my psychology books says establishing physical intimacy with another during a time of distress goes a long way in centering their emotions. Hugs were the most recommended, along with hand holding and heavy shoulder pats, and thus I presumed that this was an appropriate occasion-"

Daniel stared at her in disbelief, "...This is your attempt at comforting me?" He asked slowly, unable to comprehend the sheer amount of awkwardness a single being could possess -and while he knew he was bad at emotional situations, he wasn't _this_ bad.

Edgar shrugged once, before resuming her uncomfortable patting, and Daniel couldn't help hit, he cracked up, throwing his head back with a laugh, because _Edgar Beauregard_.

He only laughed harder at the clear confusion in her eyes at his reaction, and he felt bad, he really did because here she was trying to make him feel better in her own little way, and he was laughing -but God, only Edgar could turn his pity party into the most ridiculous thing ever by trying to _comfort_ him.

He forced himself to shut up however, when he saw how she seemed to turn into herself, and withdrew her hand without a word. He'd hurt her feelings. "Wait, I'm sorry for laughing, it's just-" abruptly he cut himself off, knowing before he even continued that his words wouldn't be welcomed. "I'm laughing because you made me feel better." He said quickly.

"And you find that amusing?" She asked bluntly, and _oh_ , because he could see how that came out wrong, but he really had meant it. The amusement she'd unexpectedly prompted out of him had gone a long way in lifting his spirits, brief as the moment had been.

"Yes, but in a good way." He said hastily trying to clarify.

She didn't seem all that appeased as she shouldered her rucksack, "I might be a bit later than usual tomorrow, I'm going to the reservation in the morning." She said, and he frowned thoughtfully.

"To the kid you said you'd teach?" He guessed to which she nodded, starting to leave without another word, and that's when he realized that he may have been a bit more insensitive than he'd first assumed with his laughter.

"Wait!" He called, shifting his violin to one hand and getting to his feet, hurrying towards her. She paused, and regarded him with an expectant look. He cleared his throat awkwardly, "I'm sorry." He stated.

"Sorry? Why?" Edgar asked, confused.

"I shouldn't have laughed, it was mean." He told her, and he watched her mouth pull down into a frown.

"Its not the first time I've been laughed at. It's alright." She replied, and okay, wow Daniel, could you have been any more of a jerk? He knew that Forks often whispered and tittered mockingly at the girl before him, heck, he'd done it a few times himself when they were all still in Primary -Edgar had always been the weird girl with scary eyes and no friends, _everyone_ had laughed at her. And he'd done it again now, when he was supposedly more mature, and she'd gone out of her comfort zone to try and make _him_ feel better.

The guilt doubled.

"It's not alright, you're my friend and I shouldn't have laughed. I'm sorry." He told her, full of conviction, and her eyes widened.

"Friend?" She repeated, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue, and he nodded firmly, because she _was_ , even if it had taken him a stupid amount of time to realize it.

"...I've never had a friend before." She admitted, sounding kind of lost, but her eyes were shining.

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, "Yeah, um, I don't have that many myself either." Daniel admitted, and weren't the two of them just pitiful? "Still, I'd like to be your friend, if that's okay?" He ventured unsurely.

The black haired girl was quiet a moment, long enough that Daniel had time to fret about whether or not she'd accept or not, and also thank God that his mother was still upstairs, because he just _knew_ she'd make the whole thing ten times more embarrassing than it had to be, and he was already considering bolting as it were.

Finally, when he was about to back out like the coward he was, a small smile blossomed on her face, not an overly large one, but it was still _there_ , and that stopped him in his tracks.

"It's okay." Edgar answered happily.

* * *

Mark Wright was a simple man of a simple background who led a simple life with simple needs. Born and raised in Mississippi middle-class America, he'd come from a hardworking family that had been around since the days of Independence, all firm Republicans and God fearing people, not a drop of all this modern _unholiness_ in his blood. He'd played football in highschool, before graduating with average grades and going to a local college, majoring in Finance, and later marrying a respectable young woman who had a teaching job at the primary school. They'd had two _normal_ kids, one boy and one girl, settled down in a quaint suburban home in a nice area with none of the usual riff-raff and illegal immigrants to disturb, and led a full life of meatloaf and unseasoned chicken.

Mark worked hard, loyal secretary Shelly by his side, and through his honesty and morality, was quickly moved through the ranks until he found himself Director, and though the years were hard and tax collectors harder, he was able to adequately provide for his family.

So when his and his wife's thirty year anniversary came up, and the madame proposed a romantic European holiday to celebrate all their joyful, monogamous years of matrimony, he figured why not? He deserved it, all his tireless work was gaining on him, the grey hairs were more pronounced, and even Shelly had commented his stamina was not what it once was, unable to perform as well as before. Still, Shelly hadn't been complaining at the expensive painting he'd gifted her, for all her years of loyal service of course. A true helper she was.

A friend of his who lived on the Olympian Coast had recommended a local artist who was supposedly able to paint anything requested better than even some world renowned artists, and while Mark wasn't the most artistic of men, the realm being one for women -and the occasional dandy- he took a look at the photos sent, and figured they'd make good enough gifts, so he ordered one for Shelly and the Madame, and when they'd arrived, hadn't been disappointed. Why, the family portrait he'd commissioned looked like a mirror-image, not to mention the extreme detail paid to the second painting he'd ordered, one which particularly brought out Shelly's, ahem, assets. The prices were a bit steep for his tastes, but he could at least appreciate the quality.

So, he'd gifted the Madame the portrait and two tickets to Germany, bid his two _responsible_ teenage kids goodbye and a firm order to diligently watch over the house, and hopped on the plane.

Europe was nice enough, if a bit colder than he was used to. The beer was quality, cars even better, but he didn't get much time to enjoy either. The Madame dragged him all around, doing all the touristy nonsense, as well as endless shopping, and they bought train tickets down to France at her request to see 'The City of Love', which he personally thought was a bunch of hogwash, but at least they had good food, so he could bare it.

Finally they made it down to Italy, the last leg of their one month trip, and he found himself restless with anticipation to get back home to _real_ sports, not this tap dancing thing they called 'football' and a good ol' backyard barbecue. However, where he was anxious, it seemed the Madame was drawing it out as long as possible. They spent some time in Milan, before moving on to Florence, then Venice, and finally old cobblestone Volterra.

Of all the places they'd visited so far, he could say with all certainty that Volterra was the most boring, with nothing at all entertaining, which was why he couldn't figure out why in God's name his wife was taken with the place and all its 'breathtaking plazas' and 'lovely statues'. To his horror, the third day in, she dragged them off to yet another art tour.

He'd been reluctant at first, because just how many times could one stare at an unmoving hunk of rock in their lifetime? But then he'd seen their _tour guide,_ the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life, with skin of ivory, dark hair and a figure that curved for _days_ , and that was a woman he'd follow till the ends of the earth.

She rattled on about paintings and decorative pieces and all that nonsense, but he couldn't even register her words, hypnotized by her sultry voice and the way her hips swayed from left to right when she walked, and he trailed after her blindly, not even caring where he was being led. He didn't care about the disapproving looks his wife was giving him, didn't care about anything, and thought only of how he'd sell her off if only for a night with this sensual woman.

They emerged into a grand hall, all marble pillars and decorated ceilings, and others were taking pictures, gushing happily about his surroundings, but he couldn't care less about any of that, because the woman had just _winked_ at him, and he swore he felt his heart try and escape out his throat.

"Welcome Guests! Welcome to Volterra!" A velvety voice cried happily, and his attention was almost forcefully drawn to the front of the room, to where a trio of men sat on thrones elevated on a dais. The man in the middle was all dark hair and pale skin, but what jumped out at Mark was not his unsettling looks, but his glaring scarlet eyes that shun brightly. On his left, was another man with red eyes, watching them all with a bored look on his face, and on the right, was one with stark white hair and a hungry smirk on his face.

Mark swallowed nervously, and when his eyes darted around, he found the beautiful woman had disappeared.

"I _do_ hope you've enjoyed your time here." The man purred, and then suddenly there was chaos. Screams filled the place, and Mark watched in horror when he registered the pale figures falling upon them, teeth flashing before they buried them into the necks of his tour mates. People tried to run, beg for mercy, but it was futile, for these, these _creatures_ were ruthless.

"Mark!" His wife cried out, desperately reaching for him, her blue eyes terrified, but before he could even react, the smirking blond man had set upon her, and Mark watched in horror as his wife of three decades, _the mother of his children_ was drained dry, the life disappearing from her eyes before she crumpled into a lifeless heap.

"Quite unfortunate, that." A voice hummed lightly from behind him, and he whipped around to see the one in the middle standing behind him, staring at the corpse of his wife with a benign smile. "Still, it is the way of things." He added lightly, trailing his fingers almost gently over Mark's jaw.

"Mortals are all the same you see, insipid little creatures that walk the earth, blind to their surroundings, full of greed and lust." He drawled, and Mark was too frozen to even so much as cry out when the man grabbed his jaw in his hands and forcibly made him stare into his devil red eyes. "You Mark Wright, are even more revolting then the usual."

And then the man descended on him. The sensation of having his blood drained from him was not as painful as it seemed, he thought only half coherent and oddly calm with the situation. It was almost pleasant, a delicious tingling in his system that left him all too willing to give more. His eyes drooped, his limbs heavy and fatigued, and he felt far too dizzy, before he was abruptly dropped carelessly to the ground, too weak to even shiver at the cold he felt.

"This Edgar Beauregard, however, intrigues me." Declared the man, sounding almost pleased.

It was the last thing Mark Wright heard before he died.


End file.
